


Amity (phan)

by thattumblrchick



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, Phanfiction, Punk Phil, Shy Dan, Shy Dan Howell, Slurs, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 13:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10537653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thattumblrchick/pseuds/thattumblrchick
Summary: dan had a personality more fragile than the flowers he pressed. (shy!d x punk!p )-or in which a perfectionist with a limp meets a basket case with an affinity for hiding. together they find that they have more common ground than might be expected.-mature themes included. read with discretion.





	1. one.

-dan-

Spring.

It was spring when my life started to shift. All the formalities I'd held close started to crumble and fade, making way for new patterns. But this wasn't a bad thing. I liked spring. It was the season that brought the flowers back, so any changes in my life- good or bad- could be tolerated.

Flowers had always fascinated me. Even when I was little. There was something about them. Their perfection, maybe. Something I'd never been able to acquire. Every petal had a place to be, and each leaf was organised perfectly on the stem. There was something so wonderfully calming about the muted vibrancy they held.

When I was younger, all the other kids in my neighbourhood used to love playing tag. They'd stay outside for hours, long after it was dark. They'd come back in with hearts racing, faces flushed, and laughter just spilling out of them. But not me. Sure, I'd stay out late too, but it would be away from the other kids.

Whenever I was outside, I was trying to find all the wildflowers I could. I mapped their locations, I counted their petals, and I studied their names. Then, when I heard parents calling, I'd follow the other kids in, as if I'd been a vital member in the tag game, too.

We'd all kick off our muddy boots together, and tell our parents about our adventures. I'd always follow along with the other kids. I'd take their story as my own, and pass it off as the truth. I'd ramble to my parents about how we were chasing fireflies, or I'd tell them how Avery was cheating during hide and seek. And they always fell for it.

Looking back, I sometimes wondered if my introversion was even by choice. Did I enjoy flowers more than the company of others, or did I turn to plants because nobody wanted to play with me?

It was a case of chicken or the egg which I didn't understand when I was little.

But even when I got older, I never really figured it out. I also never really got over the whole flower obsession. That was why, on the first day after our spring break, I had nobody to walk to school with, and a guide to wildflowers in my pocket.

The morning was warm. Well, not really. I could still see my breath, emerging in soft puffs ahead of me. But it was heaven compared to the cold spell our town had just emerged from. It was still early when I started walking. Much too early, in all honesty. Most days I left for school before the sun was even up. That was one of the many downsides of having leg that didn't quite want to work properly. Things just took longer. That being said, it was partly my fault. I refused to use a cane, and I still walked everywhere, so the result was an awkward effort made by my body to compensate for the incapable leg. More commonly known as a limp.

I groaned as my left leg stiffened. It was too early to deal with it. I didn't want to keep walking anymore. I pulled in a shaky breath, and stopped moving. I counted in my head. One. Two. Three. Four. It was my mums idea, actually. She came up with it when I was little. Whenever it started to hurt, and I wanted to cry, I would count. Ten seconds of being sad. That was it. I could only feel bad for myself for ten seconds, then I had to deal with it. Five. Six. Seven. I took in another long breath, and fixed my hair. Eight. Nine. Ten.

I started walking again, letting any protests from my leg roll off me. Time was up. Time to walk.

This rhythm kept up until I was stuck standing at the kerb while I waited for a particularly slow truck to pass. My eyes scanned the ground beside me, and I smiled softly to myself when I spotted a bright purple flower peeking out from the grass. It was the very first flower of spring. I crouched down, ignoring the protest my leg gave me.

I pushed back the grass it was hiding in, and studied it more carefully. Little beads of dew were resting on it, creating tiny prisms, begging for some of the morning sunlight.

"Crocus sativus," I recited to myself. "More commonly known as the Saffron crocus."

I glanced around once I realised I'd been speaking aloud. I chided myself mentally, and made sure not to admire any more plants once I got closer to my school. I couldn't give them another reason to avoid me.

-

The bell rang sooner than I might've liked. I wasn't going to be late or anything, but it meant that I'd have to hurry through a hallway that was swimming with people.

The sea of clamouring voices was probably the most terrifying place in the world, in my opinion. I hunched my shoulders in a little, and clung to the very edges of the hallway, depending on my thin frame to keep me from getting noticed.

I ducked around the people in my path, and made myself smaller. But sometimes even the very best of my intentions fell through. I never found out if someone tripped me purposely, or if I was just clumsy, but suddenly I was stumbling over my own feet. My arms pinwheeled slightly. I didn't want to fall.

Looking back, hitting the ground would've been much easier on me. I ended up crashing into someone else. I grabbed onto them instinctively, trying to keep myself upright. My head was pressed up against their chest. I inhaled sharply, a wave of raw panic hitting me. I looked up, and was met with the familiar sight of green eyes.

"Dylan," I breathed. I felt my chest tighten up, and my heart sink. I allowed the familiar feel of defeat wash over me. He was the wrong person to crash into.

He smiled venomously. He smiled like we might've been close friends. But we both knew that wasn't the case.

Dylan was possibly my least favourite person I'd ever know. He was a year older than me, and essentially the stereotypical bully type. Not that clever, but enough muscle to make up for it (He was the kind of person who always had his shirt sleeves were rolled up, showing off the fact that he actually went to the gym). And, I couldn't exactly deny the fact that he was attractive. Not that I'd ever willingly go within ten feet of him, but sometimes I could almost imagine that he wasn't an asshole. His face just seemed so nice, before you got too close.

Sometimes I wondered what I did that made him hate me so much. He brushed some of his light hair away from his face, and glanced around at his friends. They exchanged smirks.

"Dan," he remarked pleasantly, keeping up the charade that we were friends.

Dylan always went through the same patterns when he was dealing with me. The first few minutes he didn't actually touch me. But he'd lead up to it in the worst possible way. Humiliation. He'd make sure I was bright red and close to tears, with a good audience, all enjoying my misfortune. Then, he'd start swinging. Usually, when the first punch came, it would be more of a relief than anything else.

His eyes locked onto mine, and I scrambled back a little farther, nearly tripping over my feet again. But his hand latched onto the front of my hoodie before I could get away. He tugged me forwards, and pulled me so that we were only inches apart.

"Where are you going, pansy?" he growled. I was so close to him. I could see all his little freckles, and his long eyelashes. He was staring straight at me.

I broke our gaze, but he put a hand under my chin, and tilted my face so I was forced to look at him again. "One of my friends said that you had a flower book, Daniel," he cooed mockingly. "Is that true?"

I tried to squirm out of his grip, but it was no good. He let go of my shirt, and roughly grabbed my bag. He rooted through it. My chest tightened up. I knew he'd find it. I didn't want him to. I really didn't want him to. I considered protesting somehow, but from experience, I knew that it wouldn't end well.

He pulled out the small and faded yellow book triumphantly, and held it up for everyone to see. I'd gotten that book when I was little. Maybe eleven years old. It was mine. Not his. My throat started to constrict, but I fought it off. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

"Recognising Wildflowers, a Complete Guide," he read aloud.

"Give it back," I said quietly, willing my voice not to crack.

He ignored me, and opened it up. I winced as he started to flip through it.

"Guys, oh my god. He's written fucking notes inside this book," he sneered. Dylan held it open for his friends to see, demonstrating the small inscriptions I'd written inside, wedged between lines of text.

It hurt. Or it stung, at least. I loved that flower book. And it wasn't just a guide, I'd turned it into more than that. It was something of a journal to me. Whenever I found a flower or plant that meant something to me, I'd write about it. Make a small record of the event. Sometimes I wrote about things that didn't even have to do with plants at all.

Dylan cleared his throat, and then started reading one of my notes. "Log, April 4th. Today it was much warmer than before, and while in the park I found-"

I lunged for the book, my face burning.

He lifted it above my head tauntingly, rubbing in the fact that I was too short to be any kind of threat to him. "Sorry, you fucking pussy. I want to read this book a little more. It's just getting interesting."

He skimmed through it, and then froze when he reached the first page. "Holy shit. This is too fucking good. There's an inscription.'To my darling Daniel. May you find every flower in the world. Lot's of love, mum.'"

People were laughing. I was ready to cry.

"So your mum gave it to you, then. I guess she's a freak too. It's no wonder you turned into such a poof," he mocked, stepping closer to me.

There was something so horribly wrong about that. About taking something that was mine, something that was intimate and personal, and special, and using it against me. Using the book that I'd poured my heart into to humiliate me. I loved that book. But now it seemed tainted. Or ruined, somehow. I wondered if I'd ever be able to hold it again, without remembering Dylan's taunts.

I felt a blush crawl along my cheeks, as I heard his friends laughing more. I just wanted to leave. I wanted to curl up into a little ball and hide. I wanted to be alone.

Dylan snapped the book shut, and turned to look at me again. "Let me give you a little advice, Danny. If you want to come off as less of a fucking fag, you'll ditch that flower book, alright?"

I shook my head frantically, and reached for it again. He was faster than I was, though. And he had longer arms. I found his eyes again. "P-Please," I whispered. "Please don't."

Dylan held my eyes for a moment. "Fine," he said.

For a split second, I got some kind of hope from his words. And then I realised I'd fallen for it. His thuggish hands tore through the flimsy book easily, ripping it in half. He dragged it out as much as he could, making sure that I saw every second. "This is for your own good, Dan."

And then I knew it was done. He was finished tormenting my thoughts and emotions, now he had better plans. He was ready to make me hurt physically, too. I resisted the urge to grab the pieces of my broken book, and I backed up. Before I could get anywhere, Dylan put both hands on my shoulders, and shoved me backwards until my shoulder blades met the cold metal of a locker. I winced on impact, but kept my mouth shut.

Time seemed to slow down a little, but my heart refused to do the same. I couldn't quite hear anymore, I couldn't focus on anything, either. I knew what was coming. I knew I couldn't do anything to stop it.

"Next time when you're in the hall, watch where you're going, you fucking cripple."

His first punch hit me in the lower stomach. I doubled over from the impact, and my breath hitched. I clamped my mouth shut, and did my best to hold back any sound. It hurt, but it wasn't as bad as I was expecting. He was holding back slightly. I wondered why.

"Got that?" he asked, his voice low and cruel. I nodded a few times, but I kept staring at his shoes, as if not looking up would spare me from my fate.

His second hit landed a little higher- my ribs, to be exact. This time it wasn't a soft blow, either. I felt the wind leaving my chest, a little puff of air just audible. I bit my lip, and felt it trembling slightly. My eyes were starting to water.

"Oh my gosh, are you going to start crying?" he said with a laugh. "Are you actually crying, Dan?"

He slapped my face when I didn't answer him, and the impact stung. Some of my precious tears bloomed, spilling over my cheeks. I looked around at the group of people who were watching the events unfold. They were all avoiding my gaze. I recognised some of their expressions. Guilt.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, Daniel."

I met Dylan's unforgiving gaze. He smirked when we made eye contact. Some kind of sick smugness was burning inside of him. He glanced back at his friends, and they laughed more loudly, as if I was the best entertainment they'd ever seen.

And then he stopped holding back entirely. He kicked my leg- my bad one- as hard as he could. It gave out almost immediately, and I tumbled to the ground. A burning pain was shooting through me, and the room had started to spin.

It seemed that to Dylan, there was nothing funnier than seeing me unable to stand anymore. He gave me another few good kicks before backing up a few feet and admiring his work.

I'd curled up on my side, facing away from Dylan and the small crowd that had formed. I was still crying when they left. I was on the floor for awhile, entirely forgotten once I wasn't being hurt anymore. They didn't think of me as any more than a plaything.

As soon as I tried to move, I was stunned with a sharp pain. My leg barely held up at the best of times, and it wasn't good today. I knew that standing up would be almost impossible, let alone walking.

The hall was empty, but I didn't know how long that would last. I knew that any minute a teacher could step out of their class, and then they'd see me. That would mean a trip to the office, or worse, a call home. And I didn't want that.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

After my time was up, I started to stand, but winced as I tried to put pressure on my leg. I held back a sob, and fought my way to my feet. I didn't know where to go. My mind had filled up with cotton balls, or something similar, because I couldn't think clearly anymore. It was spinning. Everything was spinning.

I shuffled forwards, and snatched my book, alongside the pages that'd been torn out of it. I shoved them back into my bag, and started to head back down the hall.

I stumbled, leaning heavily on the wall for support. Normally, I'd hide in the bathroom, but that wasn't an option. It was too far away. I'd pass someone by then. I needed to find somewhere closer.

I peered in the classroom windows as I passed them until I found one with the lights off. I tried the door. Luckily, it was open. I walked into the empty science class, and sank down to my knees.

It was an old room, cluttered with desks and chairs. No real scientific equipment was there anymore. It was more of a space for lessons. I looked at some of the tacky posters hung all over the walls, and almost wanted to laugh. They had cheesy messages, like 'When nothing goes right, go left!' I wondered if teachers believed the crap they fed us.

The second I shut the door behind me, I let go of everything I was holding close to my chest. More tears fell, but I didn't try to stop them. I crawled to the far side of the room, not trusting myself to walk any further. I ended up hiding under a desk. I pulled my knees close to my chest, and I buried my face in my arms.

I was such a baby. Such a pathetic baby.

I tried mopping my face up a few times, but it didn't quite work. I was crying too hard, so I gave up, and just let the tears keep spilling. I closed my eyes

I was alone in that room for a long time. Time spilt by fluidly, and I wasn't really keeping track. The only thing I knew, was that at 9:36, I wasn't alone anymore.

The door creaked open, and then slammed shut with a violent intensity. I bit my lip, and made sure not to make a sound.

At the time, my feelings, my emotions, were cold emotions. It was a big mess, a big puddle of sad, and scared and worried. I wanted to be alone, and I wanted to cry.

But not that boy. His emotions were flaming hot. Like they could burn me if I got too close. Like they could leave scorch marks without too much trouble. Anger, rage, hatred. These emotions radiated off of him. I could feel them, even though was across the room.

I couldn't see much, from my spot under the desk. And I didn't want to risk him seeing me. I pulled my small arms closer to my chest. He was pacing back and forth quickly, probably trying to calm himself down.

He stood in the corner or the room for almost a minute, deadly quiet. His hands were clenched into fists, and they were shaking. I could hear his rough breaths quite clearly.

I thought I might've recognised him. He was new, the one some people were talking about. He arrived just after the break. I didn't know much about him, other than the fact that he looked rather scary, and seemed to be a million feet tall.

It was quiet for another minute or so. Then, all at once, he broke.

At first, it was just a shout. Then it was followed by several others. The boy's voice was cracked and hollow, and full of pain.

He punched the wall, and swore loudly. I recognised the tone in his voice. He was a person who'd been pushed too far. He'd snapped. It all came crashing out of him after that. A few more shouts, and then he was breaking things. Slamming chairs over, tipping desks. I wondered how nobody had heard the commotion yet. He was shouting things, sometimes coherent sentences, other times just strings of curses.

My breathing started to get uneven again, and my head swam with anxious thoughts. I was worried about what he might do next. I was worried about who he might hurt- himself, or others.

And then, he saw me.

Or I assumed so, anyway, because the next thing I knew the room had gone silent. No more yelling, and no more crashing. His footsteps started to echo around the room. It didn't take long for them to come towards where I was. Then, when he was right next to me, he stopped moving.

I didn't look up. I refused to. I was praying that by some miracle, he'd overlook me. That maybe, he hadn't really seen me. I heard him crouch down. I heard his ragged breaths being drawn only a few feet away.

"Y'know, love, even if your eyes are shut, I can still see you just fine."

His voice was less angry than I anticipated it would be. But I heard his voice shake, and it was clear that he was just barely holding it together. He wasn't really calm, I could tell from how sharp his tone was, but he wanted it to seem that way.

I didn't say anything, but I did wipe my eyes again in a last ditched effort to dry them. For some reason, I really didn't want him to see me cry. After I worked up my nerve, I turned my head and looked up at him.

And god, his eyes were just lovely.

He spoke again. "Look, kid. Why don't you leave now, and we can both pretend that we never saw each other, okay?" His frustration was starting to slip, and his voice shook. I knew if I didn't listen, he wouldn't keep his calm much longer.

But I was petrified. I didn't want to move. If I did that, I might encounter Dylan again. Somehow, I thought hiding under the desk would be the safer option.

"Look, I'm trying to make this easy on you. I just want you to leave, so please get the hell out before I lose my mind," he asked finally. He looked exasperated. I felt bad.

I huffed a little, then crawled out from under my desk. I stared at his blue eyes a little more before I had the courage to talk. "Don't make me leave," I mumbled. "Please."

For a second he looked mad again. Like he would snap on me. And then his eyes found mine, and he shared my gaze. After a moment or two, he nodded slowly.

"Fine. Just shut up, okay?"

In that action, we made something of a ceasefire. A truce. We were both aching, each from separate causes, and we both wanted to be alone. But there was something else going on. We were both too tired to oppose each other. And so we coexisted.

I nodded frantically at his words, and pulled my knees back up to my chest.

The boy stood up, sat down on a desk a few feet away from me.

I went back to fiddling with my sleeves. He went back to glaring at the wall, or whatever it was he did.

-

It was quiet between us for a very long time. The room grew an icy layer of silence that almost bit into me. I was too afraid to make a sound. I kept my breaths shallow. I didn't want to bother him.

In the end, it was him who moved first. He slid off the desk, and came over to where I was. He sat down a few feet away from me, and leant up against the legs of a nearby desk. He yawned, and stretched his long legs out on the ground.

"So why are you in here, then?" he wondered aloud, gazing at me very curiously. He'd settled down considerably since before. A relaxed, amused tone had taken over his voice. I assumed that this was what he normally sounded like.

I shrugged, and then looked down, showing off the side of my face where Dylan had struck me.

He didn't say anything, but he nodded in understanding.

"That's a better reason than I've got," he said, his tone bitter.

I stared at him, unsure how to paint my expression into one he wouldn't get mad at.

He shook his head. "No, don't look at me with those disapproving eyes. The kid was fucking evil. He deserved it."

I raised my eyebrows. I wasn't sure if he was joking or not. I didn't really want to find out, either. I didn't understand him. He seemed so honest, and so genuine when he spoke to me. But I knew that he wasn't. The kind of anger and pain he was in- that anger that made him yell, and tip chairs and desks- that wasn't caused by an annoying kid. That was a deeper, and scarier type of anger, which was caused by something much more dangerous. And so as much as I wanted to believe his cheap lie, I couldn't.

He exhaled deeply, and put his head in his hands. It fingers ran through his black hair. "Honestly, if you had to listen to his bullshit for as long as I did, you'd do the same."

I scoffed a little at his words, and broke our eye contact. It was a strange emotion in me. I didn't know if I should be afraid, or if I should feel lucky that I was near someone as astonishing as he was. In the end, I settled on lucky. Not everyone got a chance to be stared at by such stubbornly blue eyes.

He started to fiddle with his hands, and I used his momentary distraction to my advantage. I started to look at him. Really look, really soak in every aspect of his appearance. He was taller than I originally perceived. His legs were clad in jeans- torn ones.

His eyes were my favourite part of him, though. Not just in how they looked, but in how they looked at me.

The boy pulled his jacket off, displaying a plain black shirt. I gawked at his bare arms. They were covered with snakes of black ink, intricate and detailed designs. I wondered how old this boy was. Were tattoos even legal for kids our age?

He smirked at my expression. "Yeah, they look pretty cool, huh."

I tore my gaze away from him, and felt my face go red. I stared at the ground, and made sure not to look up again. Idiot. I was such an idiot.

"Look, kid. You don't need to get all embarrassed. I'd stare at me too," he said with a laugh.

The corners of my mouth tugged upwards. I blushed a little more. I felt like I could laugh with him. Like Dylan and his friends were a million miles away. Like my cheek had never been slapped, and my leg hadn't been kicked at all. I hid my smile under the sleeve of my sweater, and then rested my chin on my knees again.

He stretched, and put his hands behind his head. He stared at me again. He wouldn't stop staring, either. "So what's your name?" he asked finally.

"Dan," I mumbled softly.

It was funny. That one word could be so hard to say. It wasn't as if I liked talking even at the best of times, but with him two feet away, my throat was tight for an entirely new reason.

"Cute name, dork."

I huffed at the mock-insult, but it took everything I had not to smile at him.

"I'm Phil," he introduced. He offered me his hand to shake. I took it hesitantly, and wave of unease hit me. Because even though he had very pretty eyes, I couldn't shake the feeling I got from him. He's bad news. I tugged my hand back, and felt my face drain of all colour.

"Kid- Dan, I'm not going to eat you or anything, y'know," he said quietly.

I made myself smaller. I hunched my shoulders in and pulled my arms around myself tightly. I tugged on the sleeves of my hoodie, and tried to figure out what to say. More than anything, I didn't want to offend him.

"Sorry, I-I just-"

"It's cool. You can relax," he reassured me, a light smirk playing on his lips again. "I'd be scared of me, too."

I hated it. How it was so easy for him to make me flustered and unable to speak clearly. I bit my lip. "No, I'm, I'm not scared of you," I stammered, my voice only slightly louder than a whisper. "I just. I dunno."

He nodded, as if he understood perfectly. "You don't talk much, huh," he observed.

I shrugged. "Some people like to call me shy." Those words were a lie. Whenever people called me something, they usually found much more colourful words to describe me. I liked to pretend that they called me shy, though.

"Yeah, but I don't care what 'some people' like to call you," Phil said. "What do you like to call yourself?" he asked. His tone was surprisingly serious. He seemed almost invested in my answer.

I paused for a moment. "Dan."

I knew that wasn't what he was looking for. He wanted some kind of label or description. But he didn't seem to mind after I said it. He laughed. And he smiled, and I was seconds away from doing the same.

He stood up. "I should probably get going soon," he remarked as an afterthought. "I shouldn't miss my first English class."

I nodded, but his words stung a little bit. It was like there was an imaginary bubble inside me, and being near him filled it up- filled me up- with happy thoughts and warm feelings. And when I found out he was leaving, that made it pop.

He headed out of his room, moving in long and relaxed strides. His bag was slung over his shoulder, and he seemed perfectly content. He was a polar opposite to the boy who stormed into my quiet room just a little while earlier.

I waved at him a little before he left, to which he gave me a final nod before closing the door, and leaving me alone in the dark classroom.

But as lonely as it was, there was still a little light on inside of me, that hadn't quite been snuffed out yet.

The bubble may have shattered, but the fragments didn't vanish. Sure, that strange boy had left, and I was alone. But for those few minutes, someone had seen me. He didn't just look at me like I was the awkward quiet boy who couldn't walk right. No, when Phil looked at me, he looked at me like I was a person. He looked at me like I was Dan.

When I thought about him, I could still feel the little bits and pieces of my imaginary bubble, all floating around in my chest. They were like tiny fireflies.

And I smiled.


	2. two.

-phil-

That room had a strange effect on me. When I was in that empty class with him, time didn't have a hold on me anymore. All the windows had their blinds drawn, so it was dark, aside from a few rays of hazy light filtering in. And I was distracted. Usually, I spent my mornings counting down the minutes until I could leave whatever class I was in. But next to Dan, I was content. I could've stayed there forever. The only thing that stopped me was the fact that I checked my phone, which reminded me that even when I was talking to him, time kept spilling by in the real world.

My gaze was tracing small patterns over him. To the untrained eye, he'd look just like any other kid- and that was the idea, that was his goal. But by pushing closer and looking deeper, he had a million little secrets and details that came to life all around him. His eyes had dark circles under them, probably from a lack of sleep. His small and bony hands were almost always tapping on or fiddling with something. His hair was a little messy, probably because he kept compulsively running his fingers through it. It was a very dark brown, with the slightest hint of a curl to it.

I snapped my eyes off of him, realising that I'd been staring for a little too long. I leant forwards, and stood up, leaving Dan all alone on the ground. He looked so much smaller when I was standing, like he might float away if there was a strong enough breeze.

"I should probably get going," I said in explanation. I couldn't help but notice how his face fell when I said that I was leaving. "I shouldn't miss all of my first English class," I said apologetically. 

I hesitated, my stomach tightening in distaste for the task ahead. Then, I started to walk away, but I turned back to him before I left. He waved at me. It was completely adorable. I gave him a small nod in return, and then shut the door firmly behind me. I felt something eerily similar to regret growing inside of me when I left him all alone. Part of me wanted to stay in that odd little room with that odd little boy all day.

I allowed myself to lean on the wall outside of the classroom. When I thought about it, I didn't know if I wanted to go back to my English class at all. At the beginning of the day, I'd been there for all of seven minutes before I basically lost it. The end result was me having a minor breakdown in what I thought was an empty class. Perhaps it would be better just to get to my next class early, instead of seeing my English teacher again.

I pulled the small and crumpled piece of paper out from my pocket. It was my schedule they'd handed me when I came in. It was a rather weak welcome, in my opinion. "Room one-twenty-three," I muttered. I looked at the number on the door I'd just came out of. "Thirty-six. You've got to be fucking kidding me."

My new school was stupid, to say the least. It was massive, and designed to be as confusing as possible to newcomers. And they didn't even try to explain anything when I first arrived. There were an infinite number of identical doors and halls and closets and extra floors. They even had a portion of the sub-basement dedicated to yoga. The school had a freaking yoga studio.

Coming from a series of much smaller schools before this one, I wasn't really used to it. The school had proper funding, which was new, but they also spent most of it on new and expensive sports equipment. The giant space also allowed for a stupid quantity of kids to flood the halls at the end of every period, making every switch on my timetable more chaotic than was strictly needed.

I would've asked someone for help, but the place was surprisingly deserted, aside from the occasional couples that were always attached by the mouth. Since I didn't want to associate myself with them, I never ended up asking anyone for help, and the only reason I got to my class at all was sheer-dumb-luck. 

I knocked on the door right as the bell rang, and I let out a sigh of relief. I could've been lost in those winding halls forever. I pushed the door open, and felt oddly shy. I stepped into the classroom, and looked around. There were only two of us in there. Me, and a middle-aged man who was sitting behind a large desk. My eyes trailed over the new space. It was a chilling parallel to the room I was in with Dan, but this one looked slightly more lived in. I looked up at the teacher, but he was distracted by one of the many faded books that cluttered over his desk. It took him nearly a minute to catch my eye.

He looked slightly startled to discover that he was no longer alone. He pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "Hello, are you the new kid- Phil?" he asked, scanning over what I assumed was his class list.

I nodded. "Yeah, that would be me."

"I'm Mr Millar, by the way. You can grab a seat wherever." I strode to the back of the class and slumped into a chair. The teacher and I were alone for another painfully awkward minute before the room started to fill out. It didn't take me long to realise that nobody wanted to go near me. One look at my outward appearance and they'd turn and walk the other way. Practically the entire class seemed apprehensive still, like I was the big bad wolf, just waiting to pounce. The empty seat next to me was never filled. I didn't really mind, though.

Our teacher ended up diving into a lesson about transportation systems once the class filled in. The room's air was stale, like there hadn't been a window open in weeks. Mr Millar had dimmed the lights, and was using a projector, making it easier than ever to slack off. Sure, as vital as xylem and phloem were to a plant, I didn't really care that much. I'd never had much of a strong suit in science, that was why I was stuck in a grade eleven science class for the second time in my high school career.

And then something rather unexpected happened. Dan came in. 

He pushed open the door lightly, and flinched when it made a sound. He came in very shyly, his left leg pulling slightly behind his right- a limp. I watched him head over to his desk, which was three rows in front of mine. He didn't see me, though. He seemed for too focused on getting to his spot that he didn't look around much. Even after he sat down, he wasn't slumped down in his chair like most kids in the class, but rather very stiff, and alert. I wondered what made him so apprehensive. Honestly, it didn't take long to spot the source of his discomfort. Right behind him, there were four boys. They all seemed extremely interested in Dan- and not in a good way. 

 

At first, they were just talking about relatively harmless nonsense. Like the number of girls they'd slept with and how many hockey goals they'd made. But as our teacher's tedious lesson progressed, they started to look for new means of entertainment. And they chose Dan. 

Foul words were being tossed around, like 'pussy' and 'freak'. My stomach tightened into a knot almost instantly. Dan shrugged it off, and kept facing forwards. He pretended that he couldn't hear them, even though the whole class knew otherwise. I chewed on the back of my pencil. He got this a lot, I assumed. After that, my teacher basically gave up on keeping everyone focused. The whole class was distracted, myself very much included. 

More than anything, I wanted to say something. I wanted to stand up and tell them off. I wanted to tell them to leave him the hell alone, and pick on someone their own size. But I didn't. I'd already tried to do something similar the period before, in English, and it didn't go over well. So I held my tongue. 

What made me the most upset wasn't even the four idiotic boys. They were just ignorant. The part I hated the most was how calm my teacher seemed the whole time. He acted like everyone was being quiet and attentive. He kept flicking through those fucking slides, like he didn't care at all about what was happening to one of his students. Like Dan was invisible. As they continued to toss about insults and slurs, he just rambled on about how different plants produced and transported energy. God, it made me mad. 

The only thing that made me feel worse, was the fact that I didn't do anything more than our teacher. I was just as fucking pathetic as he was. 

-

When the bell rang, Dan left the room as quickly as he could. I didn't blame him. He practically ran into the hallway, in what I assumed was an attempt to distance himself from the boys behind him. 

I followed after Dan. I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell him that someone was on his side. The only snag in my plan: Dan had vanished.

I stood up on my tiptoes in the busy hall as I tried to look through the crowd. Unfortunately, Dan dressed to blend in, which didn't aid in my efforts at all. After nearly a minute of futile searching, I saw him. I found him. But I wasn't the first one. 

At first glance, an outsider might've thought that they were just two friends, but I saw through it instantly. I recognised the boy who was talking to Dan as one of the worst kinds of people. One of those boys who played hockey, and had long hair. He was leaning up against a row of lockers, a hand placed on Dan's shoulder. Dan's eyes kept darting around, like he was getting ready to run. I felt the hair on the back of my next start to bristle.

 

"Hey," I said sharply. Dan's eyes went wide when he saw me. Then the larger boy turned to face me, too. He looked quite stunned, his mouth slightly open. "What's your name," I asked, before he got a chance to say anything.

I caught his eyes quickly, and I scanned over him. He seemed- for lack of a better term- boring. He was the kind of kid that had expensive shoes, decent upper body strength, and not much else going for him. "Nathan," he said, in answer to my question. 

"Well then, Nathan, can I talk to you for a moment?" I hissed, keeping my voice low and sharp. 

"Just a moment. Dan and I were just having a little chat," he said with a revolting smile. He put a hand up to Dan's cheek, and tapped it lightly. "Weren't we, Dan?" Dan froze instantly, shrinking into himself even more. 

I glared. "No. I need to talk to you. Right now. It's important," I spat. I pushed myself forwards until I cut between Nathan and Dan. Dan flashed me a thankful look, and then he was off, using Nathan's momentary distraction to his advantage. After he slipped into the crowd, I shifted my gaze back to the idiot in front of me. 

 

"Whatever, fine," he agreed. I took another step closer to him, until there was only a small gap in between us. I set my jaw and scowled.

"So. I wanted to talk to you about something that's rather delicate," I said, keeping my eyes trained on his. I was a little taller, which helped with the whole 'I'm-a-really-scary-guy-who-you-should-definitely-be-afraid-of' look. "I know it shouldn't be any of my business, but I couldn't help but notice how much of a fucking asshole you were being during class today."

Whatever he was expecting me to say, that wasn't it. He looked indignant, then blinked, as if to make sure I was being serious. I doubted that he'd ever been challenged on that front by anyone who wasn't a teacher before. He opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it again after a few seconds. He shot me an annoyed, wary look

I spoke again. "Look, I don't want to keep you too long. But you piss me off, okay? So if you don't start minding your own fucking business, we're going to have a problem," I threatened, lowering my voice considerably. He took a step back.

Then, he laughed breathily. He was trying with difficulty (and failing) to keep the expression of fear off his face. He ran his hand through his hair, and dropped his gaze. He took a step towards me in a bold attempt to take control of the situation. "Yeah, sure you will. I'd really like to see you try," he said as scathingly as possible.

I looked at him, and then I smiled, despite the bitter taste in my mouth. His insult didn't quite take, since we both knew that I was he was scared of me, judging on how his voice shook when he spoke. It did nothing to calm the raging fire that was burning inside of me, urging me to go farther. So I took it a step farther. "Hit me then," I said, lowering my voice to a whisper. "Show me what the fuck you'll do, and hit me."

He took a few seconds to process my words, clutching for coherence in his seething brain.

 

There was adrenaline rushing through me. A fight or flight response, and I knew I wasn't going to run away. I was just itching to get my hands on him. I could take him, easily. A boy like that wouldn't know the first thing about fighting beyond how to do a shitty football tackle. It felt like I was in grade eleven again.

Back then, I got angry a lot. And to deal with it, I had one solution. Distraction. My favourite kinds were ones that took over my entire mind and body- ones that forced me to forget about whatever the hell I was upset about. The first way I did this, was getting into fights. There was something uniquely exhilarating about beating the crap out of someone who really deserved it. Every part of me would become unified in the sole purpose of making them miserable. The other thing I would do was- to put it crudely- other girls. Sex had the same power for me. Be it girls, or guys, I could run away from my issues by having a fling. No emotional attachments, just physical. And god, did it ever work well.

I looked back up to Nathan, who had frozen. "What are you waiting for?" I snarled, getting even closer.

He didn't say anything at first. He looked confused again. I could tell that he'd never been faced with this problem before. Part of me really wanted him to hit me. I wanted to get into a fight. I wanted to wake up the next morning with the satisfaction of a black eye and a victory. But I also knew that he wouldn't do it. As tough as he pretended to be, he didn't have that kind of malice in him, when it came to someone he couldn't automatically beat.

"Listen, Nathan. If you really are such a fucking hardass, y'know, such a cool kid, then you'll take this chance to hit me and then see what I throw back. If you aren't up for that, then you really shouldn't be messing with kids who are smaller than you, if you can't handle the consequences," I said softly.

"So this is all about Dan?" he scoffed. "You're this worked up over the fucking cripple?" He seemed outraged. Like there was no conceivable way that anyone would care about Dan. I'd never been closer to punching someone than I was at that moment. I clenched my fists tighter, and felt my nails started to bite into the palms of my hands.

"Tell me, Nathan, why him?" I asked, the aggression in my tone multiplying. His face looked troubled for a split second. Like he didn't know the answer.

"He's a cripple. He's a fucking freak who doesn't even stand up for himself," he sputtered, momentarily beyond words.

I gritted my teeth, and shook my head. "You're lying to me," I deadpanned. "I think it's because you're too much of a wuss to hurt anyone who isn't smaller than you are. You know that if you hurt him, you won't have to face any negative repercussions."

He looked away. I could tell that he wanted to leave. The situation had shifted. It was just like a troublesome student getting lectured by a teacher. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he also had no intentions of changing his intentions. I had to fix that.

"No. That isn't quite it, right? It goes deeper than that, doesn't it?"

He looked away. That was when the conversation began to shift even farther. He dropped the opinion that he was cooler than me, or that he was more dangerous than I was. He just looked apprehensive. And he looked tired. I kept pressing. I kept pushing. I was getting close.

"I think the only reason you're mean to him, is because being a dick to someone who's weaker than you somehow justifies your masculinity to everyone else."

I struck a chord with that one. He looked so fucking angry. He swung, but his fist never hit me. It never even came near. I caught his arm in my hand, and then pulled him closer.

"Look. I don't want to beat your ass. I really don't. But you're seriously pushing it," I growled. My nails were digging into his arm. He looked terrified. My mouth twisted into a sneer. "Don't do it again, okay? You're getting off with a warning, this time. But if I catch you- or any of your friends- touching him again, I will make you fucking miserable. Got that, tough guy?"

He nodded rapidly. I let go of his arm, and he pulled it back. He didn't even try and act cool after that. He just left as soon as he possibly could. I hoped that he'd listen to me. I watched him run down the hall, and felt the sensation of satisfaction burning inside me.

I turned the other direction and started to walk away. It was just like in grade eleven. I'd won. He was defeated. And for a brief moment, I'd been distracted.

-

When lunch started, I was standing at my locker, fiddling with the lock that didn't want to cooperate. My fingers were still shaking too much to be of any real use. 

"Hey."

I turned around, and Dan was standing beside my locker, staring at his faded shoes. He looked a little nervous, but nothing like before, when he was alone with Nathan. Sure, he was still hunched over a little, but he was no longer grabbing his sleeves so hard that his knuckles were white. He wasn't relaxed or anything, but I suspected that these nerves were more positive. 

Excitement, not fear.

"Hey, kid," I greeted. Dan looked up at me, and furrowed his brow at the mention of 'kid'. But he still met my grin with a small one of his own. It made me happy.

His smiles were something special. They were something to be treasured. They didn't come up that often, and he tried to hide them when they did, but whenever I saw them, they were always so fucking nice. His eyes would crinkle up at the edges, and he'd reveal those sweet dimples. But most importantly, he'd drop a layer of his defences, if even for that moment.

I gave up on my locker and turned to face him. "What's up?"

The slightest hint of a blush crept across his face, and he smiled a little, too. Dan seemed to struggle with finding his words for a few moments. He bit his lip, and thought. Then, he looked back up at me. "I-I. Uh, thanks. For what you did back there," he said softly, referring back to Nathan.

"No problem." I smiled again. "It was honestly a pleasure, telling him off."

He blushed again, and paused. I could tell that he was still searching for the proper words to use. "Yeah. It. I-I. Well, it really meant a lot to me."

I started to walk down the hall, but Dan stayed frozen in place, right next to my locker. I rolled my eyes, and waved him over. "Are you coming?" I shouted back to him. "Or would you rather just stand there looking like a lost puppy?"

He shook his head and hurried after me. "Sorry," he mumbled after he caught up. "I thought you didn't want me to come."

We ended up leaving the school for a breath of fresh air. The day looked a lot more gloomy than it had in the morning. Huge looming clouds had rolled in, and blocked out the sun. It was still warm enough to stay outside with a coat, luckily, but the sky was letting the occasional raindrop slip. I liked it, though. It wasn't the scary or unpleasant kind of rain, it just made everything seem fresh and clean and new. Like the entire world had been washed. 

At first, Dan seemed happy to be with me. But as the seconds wore into minutes, he got tenser and tenser. Despite the initial excitement of being invited to spend lunch with someone, he looked much more out of his element after we left the school. He'd gone slightly rigid, like he was expecting an attack at any second. We sat up next to the school after we found a section of asphalt that was dry enough. He wasn't talking, but he was tapping anxiously on every surface he could find. 

"Dan," I stated clearly. He looked up at me, and his face paled considerably. Then he stared down at his shoes, and started to fiddle with his sleeves again. I wondered what I'd done wrong. 

"What's on your mind?" I asked curiously. At first, he just shrugged, refused to meet my gaze. "No, seriously. What are you thinking about?" I asked again. He exhaled loudly, and rested his chin on his knees, which he had pulled up to his chest. 

"I was just wondering, uh, w-what grade are you in?" he stammered. I winced when I heard his voice shake. I knew immediately that there was a lot of thought slipped into that question. He cared a lot more about the answer than he let on.

"Twelve."

He looked almost shocked at my response. "Oh," he said softly. Dan couldn't quite keep his expression clear, and I couldn't quite read it. I didn't know if he was upset or nervous or worried.

"Why, what grade are you in?" I countered. I made sure to keep my tone light, and my expression casual.

"Ten," he said, extremely quietly. That was when I saw through him. He felt self-conscious, about the age difference, I assumed. I knew the feeling all too well, though. The feeling of being sub-par to those who were older. Like I was naive and immature next to them.

We fell into a digestive silence after that, which forced me to break the ice. "Then why the hell are we in the same fucking science class?" I laughed. The corners of Dan's mouth tugged upwards slightly.

He shrugged. "I kinda like plants, so I-I'm good at science, I guess. With biology, anyway," he said, as if he was embarrassed about it.

I nodded. "And I'm pretty shit at science. That puts us at about the same place. Makes sense."

He tried to rub the involuntary smile from his lips, and failed. He quickly covered it up with one of his oversized sleeves. God, my heart almost melted right then and there. 

"What classes do you like?" he asked quietly. As soon as he said it, he looked nervous, like saying those five words were the biggest leap out of his comfort zone it was possible to make. It was funny, I could almost swear that Dan's face was always either extremely red or extremely pale. But it wasn't a bad thing. It was sweet- cute.

"I dunno," I answered. "I kinda like English. Like, when it's not a class full of idiots."

He shuddered slightly at the very mention of the subject. I laughed. "C'mon, Dan. What's so bad about English?"

"Presentations," he said simply. And that was all that he had to say. He caught my eyes, and we had our own quiet conversation. It was amazing. When he actually held my gaze, instead of looking away, he had such interesting eyes. They seemed intelligent. I got the feeling from Dan that he was much smarter than he let on.

He looked away. Since we got outside, a light fog started to roll in, ruining the clarity of our view. The looming clouds above us were just as swirling and grey as before, and they blotted out the sun so efficiently, it was starting to get darker outside. The raindrops that were being held back started to bleed through at a faster rate, sprinkling us. But Dan didn't look like he wanted to move.

He looked quite comfortable, actually. More so than when we first got outside. He had tilted his face up, so that he was getting hit with the small raindrops. His eyes were shut, and it looked like he was enjoying it. He was humming quietly to himself. 

I attempted to do the same by shutting my eyes, too. I didn't last that long. I kept getting hung up on how much I hated getting my hair wet when it wasn't strictly necessary.

"Can I ask you a question?" I inquired, softening my voice so that it was nothing but kind. I got rid of all the sharp edges it used to hold. "You don't need to answer if you don't want to."

Dan didn't open his eyes. He just let out a little huff and nodded his head.

I bit my lip. I was curious, extremely so, but I also didn't want to bother him. He just looked so at peace. "I was just wondering. Do you know why they, y'know, give you trouble?" I asked delicately. I wasn't sure if I should've worded it more specifically. I also didn't know how he'd react. He didn't say anything for a long time. I wondered if he was thinking, or if he didn't want to tell me.

"It's a mix of different things," he mumbled. Dan opened his eyes, and sat up straighter. The spell was broken. He looked a little deflated, as if talking about it gave him actual physical pain. "I'm easy to push around, and I don't stand up for myself," he said honestly.

Dan got quiet for a second, but he wasn't done talking yet. He was thinking- or carefully constructing his next sentence. "And I'm a freak," he said finally. He met my eyes again, and thought it might've been my imagination, it looked like they were shining- like he was about to cry.

Those four words. They were the ones that broke my heart. He didn't say something like 'they think I'm a freak', he said it like he believed it to be true. Like it was just a fact of nature, no questions to be asked.

"Don't say that," I said sharply. He looked up. He was a little confused. "Seriously, I'm no longer tolerating anyone giving you a hard time, yourself included."

He nodded, and smiled just the smallest amount. We sat quietly for a few moments, but we didn't stay outside for too much longer after that. The rain had started to fall at a more consistent rate, instead of just the occasional drip. The light breeze from before started to strengthen, stubbornly messing up my hair. After I stood up, I watched Dan sit on the ground for a few moments more. One of his hands was clutching his leg- the one that dragged behind when he was walking. He winced slightly but tried to write it off as nothing. I offered him a hand up, which he took without hesitation. It was crazy, how light he was to pull up. I honestly had to wonder how he didn't drift away with the wind. 

-

Although we walked into the school together, Dan didn't stick around for long. As soon as we got within thirty feet of the cafeteria, he said that he had to do some homework, and vanished before I could ask him anything. I got the feeling that Dan didn't like spaces with too many people. I opened the door to the large cafeteria, and I was feeling overwhelmed almost instantly. My eyes drifted through the crowd as I wandered the room. I didn't know where to sit. 

To my fortune, this wasn't the case for too long. Before I had a chance to worry, a boy, probably in my grade, stood up. He waved me over. I strode over to the table he was sharing with a few other guys. 

The moved over to give me space to sit. I joined them at the cheap table, and looked around. I guessed that they were all in grade twelve, too, judging by height. I considered leaving and trying to track Dan down again, since these guys didn't look like the most intelligent crowd in the world. I could almost feel the arrogance rippling off of them. But I dismissed the thought when one of them offered me a hand to shake. I decided to at least try to give them the benefit of the doubt. 

"Hey," he said. "You're new here, right?" he asked. I shook his hand hesitantly, then gave him a thin smile. The boy in question was about my height, with rather dazzling green eyes. His skin was dusted with the lightest skattering of freckles, which matched his smile very well. 

 

"Yeah, I am," I said. There were five of us at the table in total. The green-eyed boy who shook my hand, the boy who invited me, and then two other guys with their noses buried in their phones. 

The boy who shook my hand started talking, probably an introduction of some kind. But I was tuned out, still wondering why they wanted me to sit with them in the first place. I looked up to find him looking at me expectantly, like he'd asked a question. When I didn't say anything, he spoke again. "What's your name?" he repeated patiently. 

"I'm Phil," I said in explanation. He stayed still for another few moments. "What's your name?" I prompted. 

 

"I'm Dylan."

Despite my first impressions, they seemed kind enough. I laughed a lot, at any rate. It was cheap humour, the kind I liked in grade eleven. In fact, the whole experience of sitting with these boys was jsut like when I was in grade eleven. Lots of laughing, very little brain activity. But it was still a good experience. It brought me some nostalgia, if nothing else. 

I didn't see Dan again for the rest of the day.

-

As much as I knew that school was good, and education was a valuable part of my life, I couldn't stop the feeling of relief when I got home. I fumbled with my keys for a few seconds before I pushed the door open, and stepped into our dark house. 

I dropped my bag on the side of the cramped and cluttered hallway, and switched the dim light on. The light bulb was starting to fade, and it only cast a weak and yellowish glow. I made a mental note to pick up some new ones soon. I headed towards my room, and paused when I noticed the small note on the door.

Hi, Phil. At work still. Food in the fridge.

I let out a sigh, and flopped down onto my bed. I stretched my arms up over my head, and yawned. It was a nice feeling, being home after a long day. My room brought a feeling of familiarity with it. The slightly off-white walls were the same ones I'd grown up with. It was funny, the only thing in my room that ever changed was me.

My bedside table was the same one I'd bashed my head on when I was seven, the posters were the same ones I'd put up in grade 6, and the closet was the same one my sister and I  used to hide in while pretending that we were flying through outer space. I smiled wryly. My sister. My fucking sister. Thinking about her opened a floodgate of old and faded memories. Emma. My hands started to shake again.

I tightened my fingers into fists, and chided myself mentally. I was just being melodramatic. My sister wasn't dead, or anything. But then again, she was dead, in a way. She'd buried all the pieces of her old self, and left them far behind. Now she was just a remnant, just a shell of her past personality. It was fine, though. It was okay. I didn't see her enough for it to hurt like a new cut. It was just an ache, an old bruise that didn't feel like healing. I had to remind myself that it was her choice. It was her life to create, and it was her life to throw away. By leaving her old self so far behind, it left the ancient memories untarnished, so I could look back with a smile. 

God, my sister was a strange being. She lived with my mum. She had for a good seven years, so it was nothing new. They were exactly the same, my mum and my sister. They both craved perfection. A perfect house, a perfect life, a perfect group of friends. My dad and I just didn't fit into that picture very well. 

I closed my eyes, and started to think back. It really did hurt, but I liked to believe that sometimes pain could be valuable. It could serve as a reminder and a message. See, it started way back before I was around. It started with my dad getting my mum pregnant with me at nineteen, which 'ruined' her shot at her perfect life. 

That didn't stop her at first. She held onto that perfect dream too tightly as a kid to let it all slide away. So she dropped out of college, and they got married. They even had another kid- Emma- and for years, they pretended to be madly in love, living their own kind of perfection. And then the lie started to wear off. And then she started to resent us. My dad and I, we were always the ones to blame.

Back when our parents were still playing pretend, my sister and I were close. We used to go on adventures all the time. We would hide in cushion forts, and play stupid made-up games that made sense to nobody but us. And then, around the time my mum started to think about leaving, and starting a better life, my sister started to agree. She grew up. She stuffed her old imagination away, deep in the back of her mind, and replaced it with better ideas, ideas of fancy universities, and a white picket fence of her own.

 

And then they left.

I stood up, abruptly snapping out of my daydream. I'd been dwelling for too long. I'd been crying. "Fuck," I whispered, wiping my eyes roughly with the sleeve of my jacket. I shook my head in a pathetic attempt to clear my mind. I gathered up all thoughts of her, and crammed them way back in my brain. I'd think about them later. 

But my eyes kept leaking, against my will. Despite my best attempts, she was still in my head. She was there. So I clung to the one person who might be able to live in my mind more strongly than my sister- Dan. 

I thought about him. I thought about his shy smiles and his bright eyes. That did the trick. 

I let out a long breath I didn't realise I was holding in. I was exhausted. It was a long day. A culmination of bad experiences, and good ones. I kept thinking about Dan. I didn't let myself think about anything else. And after a few minutes, I didn't want to think about anything else. He'd taken over my brain. It was funny. Our experience was plain, if anything. Mundane. Generic. He was just a boy. A boy that was afraid of me, probably. I could find his traits in so many other people, but for some reason, he was the one that I wanted to think about. He was just a boy. Just a boy.

But he also had very, very, pretty eyes.

\- - -


	3. three.

dan-

All throughout my life, I always carried the idea with me that I was better than everyone else. Well, better wasn't the right word. I thought that I was different, or that I was unique or individual somehow. As if I thought about the 'important things'.

Back then, I was clueless. And eventually, I got slapped across the face by the blunt reality that I wasn't that special after all. I wasn't that great. That realization took me a long time to come across, though. This was probably because of an annoying habit I'd had since I was young: I just couldn't stop believing the lies that sounded the prettiest.

But after that, I thought that I'd grown up. I thought that I'd realized my mistakes and changed for the better, all delusions set aside. But not that day. That fucking day, I was stupid enough to listen to another pretty lie. Somehow, I figured that Phil might actually like me. With his piercings and smiles and eyes that made my heart flutter. I thought that he could be different. I thought that he liked me as a person, not as someone to make fun of or to laugh at.

I suppose that my mind jumped at the possibility before really thinking it through. It was clinging to the hopes that we could be two astonishing humans together. That if we both didn't fit into the cookie-cutter ideal, we could find some kind of sanctuary in that.

And again, it happened. I woke up. I snapped out of it. 

My eyes snagged on his dark jacket, and I smiled. Then I looked a little farther, and saw exactly who he was sitting with. Dylan. Dylan and his horrible friends. They were all laughing at some shitty joke- which was me, most likely.

My hand slackened it's grip on the door handle to the cafeteria. Seconds before, I thought that I could do it. I decided that I'd take a chance- for him. I thought that I'd be able to sit in a crowded room if it meant sitting by his side. But he was sitting with them instead. He was content, laughing at all their sick jokes. I tried to make it sink in. Phil was friends with Dylan. 

For a few moments, I didn't react at all. My mind was whirring, like a near-broken machine trying to process something complicated. Except, this wasn't complicated at all. He was sitting with them. He was laughing with them. He liked them. Simple as that. I didn't leave right away, though. My mind was still grappling with the reality that we weren't that astonishing after all.

Then, time started again. I found that my legs were working, and I stumbled back out of the doorway. My entire body felt like jello, like I might collapse in a second. The entire time I was walking through the hall, there was one thing in my head, just one thought. I repeated it to myself over and over, like a mantra.

'I don't want to cry'

Because I didn't. I didn't care about him. I shuffled down the hall, forcing each foot in front of the other in almost robotic movements. So what? Phil didn't like me after all. He was friends with them, he was playing a trick on me- they all were- seeing how much of an idiot I was. So what?

So what?

But that idea, that beautiful idea, was another one of my stupid little lies. I wanted to pretend that I didn't care. It would be easier. I held my head in my hands, and tugged my fingers through my hair. But it did matter to me. Of course, it did. He was the first kid in the school that saw me as me, or at least I thought he did.

I didn't want it to matter. I didn't want to care at all. I just did. I always ended up getting attached to people too soon. I slammed the bathroom stall door closed, and pressed my forehead up against the cool metal.

I felt my throat tighten up. My eyes were burning. But I didn't want to cry. Those idiots, they wouldn't get the satisfaction of stealing any of my tears. They were mine, and I wouldn't let them spill for a stupid, stupid, boy who could make me blush. I would not.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

And just like that, it was done. I wasn't allowed to feel sorry for myself anymore. So I shoved it all back, like normal. It was like all my emotions, my thoughts, my feeling- they were just words. Words scrawled on pages that were floating around my head. So I drew in a long breath, and gathered all the pages up. I swept them off the floor, and pulled them from the air. I stacked them up, and tucked them into files and binders. I put everything into a closet in the back of my mind, somewhere I didn't visit often.

Then I took out a key, and I locked the closet door. And then all those awful words, all those awful emotions, they were gone. They were no longer plaguing my thoughts. They were all put-away and dealt with. 

I set my jaw and blinked a few times. I'd made up my mind at that point. I would not cry for anyone as worthless as him. 

-

I left the school shortly after that. I wasn't up for the rest of the day. The air was colder than I remembered, as if when I was alone it could bite into me much better. The wind was strong, but I didn't duck my head away from it. I let the rain wash over me. It helped to make me numb.

Numb.

It was often the only thing that remained in my head after I cleaned up all the emotion-papers. But numb wasn't bad. It was a soft feeling. A little empty, a little detached. But it felt nicer than crying. And it felt much nicer than admitting that Phil had already made such an impact on my life.

When I got back home, I didn't go in right away. I stood there in the yard, my feet planted firmly on the ground. My house was so familiar. With its red bricks, all covered in ivy, and the ancient porch that my mom went through so much trouble to keep clean.

I laid down on the slick grass, and I closed my eyes. The world became quiet for a moment. It was like the entire universe was numb too. The wind and the rain were beating down, but other than that, everything was still. I knew my hair would be muddy, and my clothes might be dirty, but I didn't mind. Something told me that even they were indifferent, too. Everything was numb. Everything.

"Dan!"

My head shot up. My mother, it seemed, wasn't numb in the slightest.

"Dan," she fretted. "You're soaking wet. Come in, love. I don't want you to get sick."

I looked up at her, shaking myself out of my daze. I struggled to my feet, and brushed my jeans off. I looked at the ground, I didn't want her to see how red my face was.

"Sorry," I whispered. I looked at her, and she smiled a little. I walked past her toward the house. I started to feel embarrassed as soon as I came in the door. The stupidity of lying down in the rain hadn't hit me until that point. 

I retreated into my bedroom almost immediately. See, my bedroom was basically the only place in the world that made me feel safe. It was my space, somewhere that I could escape to if anything became too much to handle. I changed into some dry clothes, and then I sat down on my bed. I pulled all the covers up around me, like they could protect me from the world. Like they were bulletproof shields that could keep me safe.

I didn't stay in my bulletproof cave for long, though. Instead, I wandered over to my desk and opened up one of the heavy math textbooks sitting there. I flipped through to a middle page, only to find some of the little buttercups I'd pressed the previous summer. There were seven of them, all arranged so that it looked like they were swaying in the breeze. 

Pressing flowers was something that I couldn't live without. It was fundamental to my survival, just like drinking water. And it was magical. Taking a piece of life, a piece of living artwork, and conserving it. When I was little, I always felt so bad about picking flowers. It killed them before they had a chance to really live. And then I realized that leaving them alone killed them, too. Never appreciated, never noticed. Nobody would remember those flowers if I didn't save them. So I started pressing flowers. Only the most beautiful, the ones free of spots and blemishes- the ones that deserved to be saved. Then, I'd forget about them for a long time, so that one day I'd be able to look at the neatly arranged flowers, and admire their worth all over again. I'd glance back at a screenshot in time, a moment pulled or of the universe and trapped. Faded little petals that remained far longer than they should have.

Sometimes, I thought that I was one of those little flowers. Faded and flimsy, trapped in the same position for all eternity.

I rooted through my messy bag, and tugged the newly dismantled flower guide out. I laid it down gently on my desk, and assessed the damage. It wasn't too bad, really. A neat rip in half, and then a few pages were torn out. It was fixable. But I frowned. Every time I saw my book, I saw Dylan breaking it, then I saw Phil sitting with Dylan, then my breath caught in my throat.

My grandfather used to tell me that everyone had a flower in them, and it was up to me to decide which one they were. For example: to me, my grandfather was a buttercup. Bright and warm and safe. And I was a daisy. Always wondering, 'do they love me?'

I paused. I'd know Phil for a day, and I already knew exactly which flower he was. What he meant to me. How he'd affected me.

I flipped through that little flower guide, and pressed my finger up against the diagram once I found what I was looking for. "Monotypic genus lamprocapnos," I whispered. I wrote the word 'Phil' under the scientific name. That was his flower now. That was who he was. I stared at the little image.

"More commonly known as the bleeding hearts."

-

I sat at that desk for a long time, until the image of those little pink flowers had burned into my mind. There was a knock at the door.

"Dan?" My mother pushed open the door very slowly. She was holding a vase that was full of sunflowers. Her face was still just as worried as before, but I didn't really mind. I looked up at her, then down at the vibrant sunflowers, then back up at her.

"I got these for you," she explained, as she set them down on my desk.

I smiled at her weakly. She took a step forward, and placed her hand down on my shoulder.

"How was your day at school?"

I could tell that she was worried about me just from her tone. She was fidgeting with her hair, but had painted a look on her face that said she was in control.

I shrugged. "It was fine." 

She raised her eyebrows. "Fine?"

I nodded, and then looked away. She could see through my cheap lie, though. 

My mom always knew when I was upset. It was like she had some kind of sixth sense that let her know whenever I was feeling anything out of the ordinary. She used to be a social worker, back before I was born, and a good one, too. My problem was that I always felt like I was being psychoanalyzed whenever we had a conversation. It almost annoyed me, how devoted she was to making sure I was okay. Especially when she felt the need to ask me thirty empty questions every time I looked like I might cry. But I loved her, at the end of the day. She was trying hard.

"Daniel," she began. "I think it might be time for us to have another chat."

I dodged her eyes, and folded my arms tightly across my chest. We'd had those 'little chats' before, and the last one had ended me in a therapist's office, one I was still forced to attend. I couldn't imagine what she thought when she saw me lying in the rain. And it certainly wasn't anything good. 

"I don't want to," I stammered. I looked down at my hands. They were shaking. I was shaking. My heart was accelerating again, and it felt like all the air in the room had been replaced with molasses. Like my lungs couldn't pull anything in- it was all too thick.

She frowned. "Alright, Dan."

I was left alone after that. The vase of sunflowers was sitting on my desk still. It was a shame. Under any other circumstances, I would've lost my mind at the sight of sunflowers. I loved them. But these ones weren't real. I mean they were, but at the same time, they were fake. They were a bargaining chip from my mother, to try to sweeten the deal of whatever plan she had for fixing me.

-

The idea of going back to school the next day seemed almost cruel. I'd have to see Dylan, and Phil, and all those other stupid idiots again.

But there I was, sitting in that stuffy science classroom, awaiting my fate. It was going alright, for the first few minutes or so. The teacher was rambling on and on about different valves in the heart, but all I could focus on was how much my heart was aching. The guys behind me were being idiots, but I was more than used to them. And I knew that nothing would get physical so long as the teacher was in the room.

I tugged on some of the loose fibers on my sleeves. I just had to get through the day. Maybe I wouldn't run into anyone. Maybe I'd escape from the school unscathed. 

And then I realized that I was being stupid again. Phil strolled into the room, wearing a white shirt and that stupid jacket. I looked up at him, then he caught my eye. He smiled, and I looked away. He didn't know that I was scared of him yet.

He was sitting at the back of the room, like yesterday. He wasn't really doing anything- just sitting there. He was observing us. Staring at the whole class. I could feel his eyes on the back of my neck. He was looking at me. And then I looked back at him, and he caught my eye. And he smiled, his face losing its edge, and becoming sunny any warm.

But it wasn't real. That smile was a lie. A trick.

I stood up, and grabbed my bag. I left, shutting the door hard behind me.

I walked through the school until I was in one of the back halls we weren't supposed to go down, one where the lights weren't even lit. I sat down on the ground, and pulled my knees up to my chest. 

And then my heart started to beat faster. Because I could hear him. Or I could hear footsteps anyway. I could hear someone running around through the tangling hallways. I stared at the tiled floor. They weren't coming for me. 

"Dan!"

That one word threw me more than I might like to admit. I took in a deep breath. I just had to take control. Tell him that I knew what he was doing, and I wasn't okay with it. And then an onset of panic rolled in, and I knew I had to get out of there. I had to get away. I scrambled to my feet, and started to walk again.

"Dan," he repeated from behind me. "Fucking wait."

I didn't slow down.I wanted nothing more than to get away from him, but he had the advantage of longer legs and more determination. One of his hands latched onto my wrist. The metaphorical weight in my chest started to sink down. 

I spun to face him, and his grip on my hand softened up. He let a long breath out. "Look. Dan. What is it? What did I do?" he asked, his blue eyes soft and curious.

"Nothing." I tried to tug my hand back from him, but he wouldn't let me go. 

"No. No, I'm not stupid, Daniel. I can tell when you're mad, and you are. I don't know what I did, and I'm not fucking smart enough to understand mind games. So just tell me what it is," he growled. 

I faced his blue eyes. "You were talking to him. I just, I thought that I might've actually mattered to you, a little. But I guess it was an act, right? Dylan put it up to you, and you thought that it would be funny to pretend that Dan the freak had a friend. But I found out, so I won't let you do it anymore."

"Dan, no-"

I ripped my hand out from his, and started to walk. Which was something that I probably shouldn't have done. Phil had a whole lot of emotions, which was something I'd picked up on quite early. The entire reason I knew him at all was because he was having some kind of fucking mental breakdown. But Phil didn't lock all his feelings away like me. No, he felt them, and he experienced them, and sometimes, he acted rashly because of them. And not listening to Phil when he was trying to talk to me wasn't the best idea. 

I was backing up, and so I saw the whole thing. I saw his face contort rather painfully, like he didn't know what to do or think. Then I saw something strike through him like lightning- anger. He took a few long steps towards me. His strong hands grabbed my thin shoulders, and he slammed me back against the nearby lockers. 

Whenever I read shitty books, or watched romcoms, they described touching people as 'electrifying' or 'magical'. But with Phil, I was so fucking afraid. He was pinning me. Holding me. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't move, I couldn't think.

Phil was breathing heavily, his eyes were on fire. He dropped his head, and looked at the floor, but kept me pinned there. Those swirling tattoos on his arms peeked out at me from his shirt. A few of those black piercings were glittering in the dim hall lights. His knuckles were dusted in purple- a bruise. His chest rose and fell slowly as he tried to calm himself. He bit his lip, and I couldn't look away. Somehow, amidst the terror, I still found a way to be obsessed with him. Then he looked back up at me, and his eyes looked almost- sad.

I reminded myself that I wouldn't cry over him.

But that closet, in the back of my head. There was a flaw with putting all my feelings there. If I got too jostled, or if there was too much in there, the closet door wouldn't stay shut. There was so much emotion- too much emotion, all stuffed inside my brain. So it leaked out. I didn't want it to. I didn't want to cry. But through heavy tears and strained words, the emotion escaped, and I broke my promise. I was crying. I was crying over stupid Phil. And god, I was so helpless, I couldn't even wipe my eyes. 

Yeah, Dylan's kicks hurt, but it hurt a million times more with Phil. I always knew that Dylan was a prick, ever since we first met. But for Phil- I thought that there was something more to him. I thought that he was deeper than what I saw on the surface. 

"P-Please, Phil. I-I don't care that you did this, j-just please let me go," I begged. "Please."

He screwed up his mouth, and shook his head. "Dan. I just want to talk, just listen."

But his words were meaningless. I was pinned up, I felt helpless. I would've been an idiot to ignore the fact that his knuckles were bruised. A guy like him, he got into fights. And if he wanted to take me down, he absolutely could. And then I was afraid. A few more tears started to spill. My shoulders were hurting, from where his hands were holding onto them. My back was slammed right up against the metal of the locker, just like Dylan had me pinned. 

I found his eyes again, and this time I didn't bother to disguise how my voice was shaking or how my tears were falling. 

"Please don't hurt me."

Then his eyes widened, like he saw just how much he was hurting me for the first time. "Fuck," he said loudly. His hands fell from my shoulders instantly. He took a step back. He was angry again, but this time it was directed at himself, not me. 

"Dan, sorry-"

"No, I. I really can't. Please just let me leave," I interrupted. When he didn't try to stop me, I started running, all dignity left far behind. To my luck, he didn't follow. 

I slowed down to a walk after there were about thirty feet between the two of us. Against my better judgment, I looked back at him. He wasn't looking at me anymore, though. He was writing something. And then he was facing me. 

He didn't make any attempts to come closer, he let me go. But he did throw something. It landed a few feet away from me. Hesitantly, I picked up the crumpled piece of paper off the ground. My hands were shaking as I unfolded it. It was a note. 

Kid-

you got it wrong. im not a prick.

pier, 6, tonight. I'll explain and show you a good time.

-Phil

 

I looked back at him, unsure of what to think. He was holding his hands above his head in surrender. Then, I made up my mind. I was staring straight at him when I crumpled the paper in my hands, and let it fall to the ground. 

Because that stupid boy wouldn't make my heart bleed anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that this was a bit short and filler-ish. I can promise that the next chapter will be longer and fluffier :)


	4. four.

phil-

I sat on the pier where I told Dan to meet me. My shoes were beside me, propped up behind my bag. My bare feet were skimming the water below. It was a little too cold, since it was still early spring, but I liked the feeling. It helped me feel awake.

I checked my phone for what must've been the millionth time that night. It was six. Six-thirteen, actually. It felt like my heart was being suspended in my chest by a knot of balloons. And with every second that passed when Dan didn't show, another one popped, and my heart sank lower. I didn't leave, though. I couldn't. It would be wrong if I left.

I bit my lip, and leaned back on the dock. I started to stare at the sky. It was turning bubblegum pink where the water met the heavens. All the little puffy clouds dotting the horizon looked like cotton candy. It was like living in a dream- suspended in a mist of disbelief. I let a breath out. The night had the potential to be perfect. It was beautiful. Glassy water and marmalade skies. But there was a significant lack of company that made it seem empty. The night was missing Dan.

"Fuck," I said loudly, as I tossed a pebble as far as I could into the water. It broke the mirror-like surface, sending out little ripples in all directions.

I wanted to be calm, but I wasn't. I also wanted Dan to show up. I needed him to. It was my fault that I let my fucking temper get in the way, and I snapped at him. If someone pushed me up against a wall, I would've been fucking angry. But Dan? He must've become fucking terrified. The nervous and fluttery feeling in my chest started to fill with a different one- guilt. It was a painful and loud emotion, fogging my head up until I couldn't see anything except what I'd done wrong.

I fiddled with one of my piercings out of habit, and lay back down on the dock. My fingers started to get restless. I cracked my knuckles and tapped on the ground beside me. I tried to distract myself with emotions that weren't guilt or worry. I let my feet sink farther into the water, I focused my attention on the feeling of cold. And then, I gave in. I checked my phone. "Six twenty-three."

I cursed again. Things were getting ridiculous. I knew that I should've left. Dan wouldn't come. He wasn't even confident enough to talk to me at school, and that was before I lashed out at him. I really should've left. Besides, I saw him crumple up my fucking note. But my feet weren't listening. They refused to leave. They weren't on board with the possibility of missing the chance to talk to him. Some stupid part of me kept glimmering- hoping that he'd still show.

And thank fucking god that I listened.

"Hey."

I spun around. Dan was standing there. He had his little hands stuffed into the middle pocket of his grey hoodie. He looked nervous. Afraid. I could tell with a single glance that he didn't want to be there. He swallowed thickly and looked away.

"Dan," I breathed, as relief flooded through my system. My mind was whirling. He's actually here. But that relief was short-lived. I had more important things to do than fret about how glad I was.

His eyes were darting around, like he wanted to run. I smiled at him. He drew his lips into a thin line and dropped his gaze.

I bit my lip. It seemed that even though he came, he didn't like me that much. I could still remember his words clearly. The ones that had stung when they hit me. 'I thought that I might've actually mattered to you, a little. But I guess it was an act, right?' The part that hurt the most- it wasn't the actual words. It was how fucking afraid of me he looked. Like he genuinely thought that I would hurt him.

I brushed all the memories away, and snapped back into the present. Dan was just standing there, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment. "Hey, Dan. You can sit, if you want," I said, nodding to the spot beside me.

He shrugged in agreement, and wrapped his arms around himself. Then he sat down beside me. I noticed the large gap left between us. It wasn't there by accident. The space- it was taunting me. Showing off how much he still didn't like me.

"I didn't think you were coming," I mumbled after a moment.

Dan let out a small puff of air. He still didn't look at me. Instead, his fingers were fiddling incessantly with something.

"I didn't think that I was coming either," he whispered. It was surprising, how thinly Dan's voice had been stretched. I worried that it might snap.

We were quiet. I didn't know what to say, and he didn't want to speak with me. I wanted to know how he was feeling. I couldn't tell if it was angry, confused, scared, or an unfortunate mix of the three. It was most likely a mix of the three.

"Why am I here?" he asked. His voice had a prominent tone in it- defeat. "What do you want from me?"

I didn't answer right away. My mind was still a mess- a jumble of thoughts and sentiments all screaming the same thing: I'm sorry. I tried to sieve through my mind, and give all my ideas a little bit of organization. It was a pitiful attempt. I looked down at my hands. My knuckles were still bruised, and my nail beds were raw. Almost as raw as my mind was at that moment.

"Dan," I said slowly. I watched him with baited breath, waiting for him to say something. But he didn't respond. I frowned, and looked over at him again. I tapped my fingers on the dock. He was still staring at the water, like I didn't exist at all. Like we were in two different universes, and he didn't see me.

It was like he was ignoring me. Like he was trying to piss me off.

"Kid- Dan. Listen. Fucking listen to me," I snapped.

For the first time that night, he met my eyes. They were large, and brown, and shining. A little glimmer was lining them, a sign that he was going to cry soon. My words had been too sharp. Far too sharp. They'd cut into him, and out poured the sign that I'd been too harsh: tears.

"No. Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that," I said in a voice that was much smaller- and much clumsier- than my normal one. "I- I'm not trying to be mean. I'm just- I'm kinda shitty at these sorts of things sometimes."

He nodded, but didn't offer up a response.

"Look. I'm really sorry. About this whole fucking situation. It's been a misunderstanding, caused by my failure to communicate."

He raised his eyebrows at me.

"Yeah, I was sitting with that guy- Dylan," I spat. "But I didn't know him, okay? I'd never met him. It was my first fucking day, Dan. I sat with some guy, and that's all I knew him as. Just some guy."

If it was even possible, Dan's eyes went even wider. "For real?"

I nodded at him.

Then, the stupid little wall that he'd built up around himself broke. All the locks he'd secured around his features started to loosen. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. He covered his little smile with his sleeve, but I could still see the bright light in his eyes. He felt was pleased or something. Or maybe relieved.

"Are we good?" I asked quietly.

He nodded his head. The knots in my stomach started to loosen. His legs were dangling off the end of the dock, and they were swinging back and forth. I smiled when I saw that his feet didn't come close to the water. He was looking away from me again, but not because he was mad. It was so that I wouldn't see the giant smile he was wearing. That damn smile. It was so bright. It was a grin so wide that it seemed to cover the whole world.

"So you don't like him," Dan echoed.

I shook my head. "Not in the slightest. And, for the record, I'm really fucking sorry for pinning you up earlier."

Dan didn't say anything. 

I smirked at him. "But if the circumstances were, y'know, different, I'd love to pin you up against a wall."

Dan turned bright red the second I said it. He started to stammer something, but I wasn't listening. Fuck, I just couldn't stop laughing. His words were fumbling again. I almost felt bad for saying it. Then I saw that stupid little grin building on his face- the one he was desperately trying to get rid of- and I forgot all about it.

"Seriously, though. I'm really sorry that I did that. I shouldn't have yelled or put my hands on you at all. Like I said, I'm pretty shit at some things, and that includes making friends."

Dan didn't say anything after that. He went back to playing at the small object that was being clutched between his fingers.

"Who else in the school is a prick?" I asked awkwardly. "Like, who should I stay away from?"

Dan smiled wryly, and pulled his arms tighter around himself. "Who isn't a prick would be a better question."

"People suck," I deadpanned.

Dan turned back to face me. He nodded. He rested his head in his palms, and stopped talking.

Something easy to pick up on was the fact that Dan sucked at conversations. Getting even a simple response out of him was hard, and more often than not, he'd just sigh or shrug or nod or hum. There were constant gaps in our conversation. Holes. Eventually, I'd run out of shitty small talk to keep our dialogue alight. Without all those cheap conversation starters, silence would settle between us. Maybe that was why it felt so rewarding whenever he actually spoke.

Dan was still distracted. I smiled.

"What're you fiddling with, love?" I asked softly.

He opened his palm. There was a small and silver key resting on his fingertips. It was old, by the looks of it. It was also slightly worn. His hands traced methodically over it, like it was something he did frequently. It was strange, the way he was cradling it. Like it was precious- more than a simple house key. It's been well loved. I thought to myself. There had to be some kind of sentimental value attached to it.

"House key?" I asked.

He shook his head and closed his fingers around it.

"It was my grandfathers," he said simply. His voice was laced with something. It was a little sad. Not like a recent sadness, though. This was something that'd long since healed over. Or maybe it was something that hadn't.

I brushed my fingers up against his shoulder, in what was supposed to be a comforting way. I had it in my mind that doing so would be a good idea, but it didn't go as planned. The second my hand came in contact with him, he flinched almost violently. Jerking away from me, like my hands would burn his skin- like he was still afraid.

I'd had those moments before. Ones where I could clearly see the outcome, but I couldn't do anything to stop it. It was like time slowed to a stand-still. But I really couldn't do anything about it.

It was a small key, Dan was clumsy and had shaking hands, and we were sitting on a dock. I'd just frightened him, and, well, It wouldn't take a genius to figure out what happened next.

That little fucking key spun through the air, glittering like the stars, until it hit the dark water below us. It vanished, in a similar fashion to the pebble I'd thrown earlier. All that remained were the small ripples where it broke the surface.

Time started again. But Dan didn't. He was frozen- rigid. Except for his eyes. They were full of tears within seconds.

"Fuck," I whispered.

"I need it. I need that-" he stammered, his voice shaking almost as much as he was. He shut up after that, only because his voice stopped working. Everything about him stopped working. He became a shell. Like a vessel- technically there, but non-functional.

I stood up. "For fuck's sake, kid."

I pulled my jacket off, and tugged my shirt up over my head. I took my phone out of my pocket, too.

"Hold these," I said, shoving them roughly towards Dan.

Goosebumps were biting into my bare skin. All I knew was that it was technically my fault. It was my fault. I was the one who fucked Dan up for the second time in two days. And so it was up to me to make things right.

And then I did something really fucking stupid. I dove into the water.

Dan didn't realize what I was doing. And I didn't either. But it was the right thing to do, and that was enough. Then I hit the water, and it didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. It was beyond anything I'd ever felt before. My system was shocked immediately. It was cold. Which was to be expected, seeing as it wasn't even the end of March yet. But nothing could've prepared me for that experience. It was like all the cold was clinging to me. Dozens of icy hands clutching my body, constricting me, constricting my lungs.

I knew it was a bit stupid, jumping into a very cold lake just for the trinket of a boy. But it wasn't that deep, and I'd taken swimming lessons before. The water was too dark to see anything, so I kicked downward, feeling around with my hands. They met the sandy bottom soon. I rummaged along the murky bottom. My fingers touched rocks and pebbles and shells, and then finally, the key. I clutched it in my hand, and started to kick back up towards the surface. My lungs were starting to protest, and I was freezing.

I'd never been more relieved than when I met the surface. I took in a gasp of air, and then I started to swim through the glassy water, back to the dock. My only thought being how to get out of the fucking water as soon as possible.

Dan was staring at me like I was crazy- which it seemed I was, in all fairness. He was still crying. His knees were pulled up to his chest, and a few little sobs echoed through as much as he tried to stifle them. He didn't quite know what I was doing.

I reached the dock, and held the key out to him. "Here you go, your highness."

His eyes went wide, like he didn't believe what was happening. He looked at the key, then back up at my face. And he didn't stop crying. He snatched it, and cradled it close to his chest.

I pulled myself up onto the dock, and wrapped my arms around myself. I wondered if adrenaline would keep me from freezing to death. "Y'know, for the second week of spring, that water was actually kinda refreshing."

Dan didn't say anything. He was smiling like an idiot. I mean he was still crying a little, but that didn't change the fact that it was a smile. A real smile. None of those little grins that he offered after I made shitty jokes. This one was proper. With little crinkles near his eyes and dimples deeper than the craters on the moon. He didn't even bother to cover it up. He was happy.

I was sitting there, leaning back on my arms, trying to tame my breaths and not freeze to death. Then he jumped forwards, tackling me in a hug. It was strange, being hugged by him. I wrapped my arms around his tiny frame, and held him close to my chest. I hoped to steal some of his warmth. He pushed his forehead into the crook of my neck. I was still soaking wet, but he didn't seem to notice. He pulled himself closer to me. His hands were slung over my shoulders, clinging to my back. Little tufts of his soft hair were tickling my throat, but I didn't mind. He wasn't really crying anymore, but I could hear him hiccuping gently.

"Thank you," he whispered quietly.

He let go of me soon after that, and scooted back a few inches so there was some space in-between us. It was like he remembered that he still didn't know me.

"Would you mind passing me my shirt?"

His eyes went wide again. He was blushing.

"Y-yeah," he stammered, as he pushed it towards me.

I didn't actually put it on, but I used it as a towel and ruffled my hair dry. Then I draped it over my shoulders in an attempt to both dry off and warm up a little.

I reached for my jacket while I worked on taming my now-matted hair. We were quiet again. I glanced over to Dan, and I couldn't help but notice how his eyes trailed on my chest, which was still very bare.

I snapped my fingers in front of his face. "My eyes are up here, darling."

Dan didn't stop blushing after that. His face stayed bright red for the next few minutes. He'd been reduced to a stuttering mess, apologizing every five seconds. He looked away. I had to wonder if he was staring at me because of the tattoos, or for another reason.

"Phil, I-I. I'm so sorry, I. I didn't mean to-"

"I don't mind."

He nodded, looked at me, then looked away again. His face was maroon.

I pulled my jacket on, and smirked at him. "I can take this off again, if you'd prefer that."

Dan hit me with one of his little sweater-paws. He shook his head, and I laughed some more. We were sitting closer together than before.

-

It really was a great night. About halfway through, after I climbed out of the water, after he hugged me, it became magical. It was like all the stars fell out of the sky and were swimming around in my head. It was like the two of us had left the ground, and were alongside the galaxies. It was like we were the only two people ever to have existed. I could hear all the lucky stars talking- whispering. They were talking about us.

And the night only became more beautiful after that. Dan was there. Dan was there. And so was the wonderful sky- and the water- and his eyes- and my heart. We were all there.

When it was just the two of us, he smiled a lot. When we first met, I thought that he never smiled. I thought that he didn't like smiling. But then I learned that he smiled whenever he was given a reason to. His life just wasn't presented with that many smile-worthy moments.

The sun had sunk a little lower in the sky, the clouds turning even richer shades of pink and purple and orange. We'd left the dock behind us. I was walking on the beach with him. My feet were still bare. The sand was soft, as soft as the pale moon which had started to rise.

"I want to know about you," I remarked, as I tossed another little stone into the water.

Dan looked up at me, and brushed some hair from his eyes.

"Why?"

"Because I don't know very much about you right now," I said softly. "And I want to."

He bit his lip. "I don't know what to say."

He stopped walking. I did too. I turned to face him. And then I started to worry that the whole night had been a dream. It felt like a dream. It felt softer than a dream. It felt like I'd fallen into another world.

My feet were on the ground- and my eyes were on his- and my hands were on his shoulders- and my mind was in the clouds.

The sky was unreal. Like someone had spilled all the colours in the world, and they were pouring along the horizon. And Dan was there. And he was also unreal. He was perhaps the most unreal thing that day.

I smiled, and cleared my throat. My hands were still on his shoulders, but it wasn't like when I pinned him up. This time my hands just wanted to be close to him.

"Okay. If you don't know what to say, just say it all. Tell me your story," I whispered.

He looked puzzled.

I bit my lip. "Okay, Imagine that a thousand years have gone by. Imagine that someone is standing in a cluttered used bookstore. And they find a dusty little book on the back of a shelf, and it contains a story about you. A story of your whole life and your thoughts and opinions. What would that story say? What would the first chapter- the first page say?"

Dan l stared at me. Like the question I'd asked was the most complex one ever posed. He hummed quietly to himself as he mulled over the answer.

"Chapter one: I like flowers."

"Why?"

"They're perfect," he mumbled. "Just- just perfect."

I pulled my hands off his shoulders, and started to walk again. He trailed behind me. I wondered if Dan got the whole 'even-though-we're-just-friends-this-totally-feels-like-a-fucking-date' vibe. Maybe it was just me. It was probably just me.

"The boy who picked flowers instead of arguments."

Dan looked up at me.

"That's the title of your book," I explained.

The boy who picked flowers instead of arguments.

The words hung over the two of us. I took in a breath. And then he started to laugh. A really soft, uncontrollably giggly laugh. One that was disproportionate to his demeanor. He tipped over a little, and leaned into me. "That sounds about right," he said, his voice still fluttery and warm.

The clouds started to lose their colours. The light left, slipping away into a duller grey. But the two of us, we were still lit up. Glowing and laughing with every single tint and shade in the rainbow all at once. Light and excitement were blooming out of us.

"What's your story then?" Dan asked me.

I smiled crookedly. "Chapter one: I can't wait to leave- to get out of this town."

"Why?"

"I've outgrown it."

He smiled. "I- Well. At least- your story sounds a lot more interesting than mine does."

"Your face is a lot cuter than mine is."

Dan furrowed his eyebrows. He'd receded up into a world of his own. The kingdom in his head. He had the spaced-out look that he got sometimes. I could tell that his mind was no longer on me. No- it was in the clouds.

He looked horribly focused. As if he was wrestling with the weight of the world in his skull.

"I'm not as good with words as you are," he mumbled. "Like- I'm not good at talking. But I- I might know what the title of your story is."

He pulled his bag off his shoulders, and rooted through it until he found a blank sheet of lined paper. He sat down on the rocky shore of the beach, resting the paper on his leg. He was there for a long time. Writing periodically, followed by a series of scribbles crossing out whatever he'd just written.

Then he paused, looked at what he'd made, and folded the paper in half. He passed it to me.

I opened the page up, and examined it closely. Practically the whole thing was scribbled over, aside from the very bottom line. There were fifteen words, written in clumsy little letters.

"'The boy who could soar with the stars, but chose to walk on the ground,'" I read aloud.

We didn't say anything else the entire walk. Nothing of value, at least. He'd stare at my face sometimes, and I'd catch him, and he'd look away. But it didn't really matter that we were silent. We'd said everything that needed saying. And now it was time to just enjoy. Enjoy the lovely company and the lovely evening.

I ended up walking him back to his house. He waved before he went in the door, and then I was alone outside. His house looked like the one I'd always wished to have. It was in that nice neighborhood with a big yard, and a sweet little garden outside. It wasn't a huge house or anything. But it was sweet. Homey.

I pulled a hand through my hair, which was still damp. I slung my backpack over my shoulders and left.

All the previous wonder had left the night. There wasn't an amazing landscape or sunset or friend anymore. It was just me, wandering back to the shitty part of town where my shitty life resided.

And I didn't mind at all.

See, most days are just fillers. Twenty-four hours of nothing, just bland minutes and moments stitched together. But not that day. That day lasted forever. It was stuffed full to the brim of memories and ideas and events. Days like this- they had a tendency to change everything. Tipping points of life, altering the course of the future. And that day was one of them. Even as I left his house, I knew that I'd remember it clearly. I knew that I'd remember how the sky looked, and the number of little smiles he flashed me (there were seventeen in total) and how fucking cold that water was. 

Even more importantly, I knew that that day had changed something. Before, we were shy and separated, and he didn't like me all that much. We had no common ground, no real source of familiarity in each other. The only reason we'd hung out was because he thought I was interesting and I thought he was cute. But something about that freaking night- it jumpstarted our friendship

Maybe it was because I got the key out of the water for him, maybe it was how we named each other's lives with shitty story titles, or maybe it was because he freaking hugged me. But no matter how it happened- something was there. there was a bond between us. A truce. A source of comfort and intrigue. And something that was new altogether:

Amity.


	5. five.

-dan-

In the few days that I'd known him, Phil Lester was having an unimaginable impact on my life. He was making me act quite unlike myself. Suddenly, I was doing things that I'd never dream of under normal circumstances. Because sure, part of me thought that he was just bad news. A loud, obnoxious guy who got into fights and didn't know how to keep his mouth shut. But the other part of me- it wanted to hear those obnoxious words. It wanted to listen to every single thought in his head.

Usually, I'd never leave my comfort zone to go meet someone I barely knew on a very-probably-romantic dock and stare at the sky with them like in a cheesy movie. But with Phil, I couldn't imagine anything else.

It was stupid. The way I was lying on my bed, my legs tangled in sheets, obsessing over that strange guy just like a teenage girl might. I was a sap. 

But after our night together, our first proper night, I felt that I had the right to obsess. I'd seen Phil freaking Lester, completely freaking shirtless. 

And that was enough to make anyone lose their mind.

His body was tall and lanky, just like I expected. But his chest- and his arms- I couldn't even put it into words. He had actual broad shoulders. Really wide and broad. And then his sides narrowed near his waist. And his skin- it was smooth, and pale. Everything was flat. No- it was more than that. It was all sharp angles and straight lines and strength. With his collar bones and his long arms- and even his freaking jaw line. It looked like he was a statue, chiselled out of marble. And then his hair and his eyes- they clashed delightfully with his skin. 

I frowned and wrapped my arms tighter around myself. I didn't have any of those glorious angles to me. I was just small. Short, with really thin shoulders and weak limbs. But where Phil was flat and smooth, I was more- more soft. Even though I was made of practically nothing, I still had that stupid soft stomach that made me self-conscious. Not like Phil. His body was as attractive as the words that fell from his lips.

And then those tattoos. The lines of swirling ink that started near his wrists and wrapped their way up his arms, even gracing bits of his chest and back. They were what really made the statue incredible. The contrast from pale to black, it leapt out at me. And while I wasn't an artist by any standards, just seeing him, it made me want to be one. I wanted to capture the glimmers and glitters that nobody else could see. The moments that were sparkly. 

I'd believed in sparkly moments ever since I first saw a sunset. Those little moments in everyday life that hold a more magic than average- and can't be seen by just anyone. Like the crackles that you hear when playing a record. And when I was with Phil, he wasn't the only thing that shone. Everything seemed sparkly. The whole world.

I shook away the thoughts.

I had a tendency to romanticise the hell out of any kind of positive experience, so a hug on a dock and a walk on a beach quickly became one of the best nights of my life. But this time it wasn't just my imagination. The whole night- it really was magical. The sky was pretty, he was pretty, and his words were pretty. He said some little snarky phrases, and he smiled and then every notion that he could've ever been a bad person- they were gone. He was just Phil. Crazy, loud, and freaking brilliant, Phil.

-

There was a knock on my door. "Dan, honey?"

I groaned loudly, and held my head in my hands. I didn't want to leave my room. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I just wanted to stay at my desk all day and catalogue Phil's various smirks and grins. And even though it was already Sunday, I still wanted to think about our lovely Friday evening together. I wanted to write all about it, so that I'd never forget. 

"You've got an appointment to get to," my mum persisted, pushing my door open. She walked into my room very gently, like the whole place was made of cardboard that might crumple up if she made any sudden movements. I glared at her, and shut my little notebook before her curious eyes could see it. She took another step forwards and placed a slim hand on my shoulder. 

"How was your day?" she asked. Her face had its signature look of disguised concern. I'd never told her about Dylan or Nathan or any of those other meat-heads that made my life hell. But I also didn't need to tell her. I had a strong suspicion that she knew already. She had a way of doing that- of knowing what was happening in my life before I did. 

 

I shrugged. "It was fine."

 

Her eyes skimmed over me as she fiddled with her curly hair. I tried to turn my face into a blank slate- into something unreadable, like Phil's. And then I was thinking about Phil instead of keeping my expression clear. And then she noticed. 

"What's that little smile for?" she asked, the corners of her mouth twitching up. 

"Nothing," I mumbled.

Her eyes lit up, brushing over my obvious lie. 

"Did you make any friends today?" she guessed. "Is that why you're so happy? Do you have a crush? Did you meet any cute girls? Or any cute boys?"

I glared at her, but I could feel my cheeks heating up, and I could tell that once again, she knew.

"Sorry. I guess that's Personal-Teen-Stuff that I couldn't possibly know about or relate to at all," she joked, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Because I was clearly born already being 35 years old and I was never a teenager or anything."

I offered her a weak smile, and then followed her out to the car. 

The slightest bit of dread was settling over me. Because while gushing about Phil was all I wanted to do, I also did not want our friendship to be dissected by her. I shut the door behind me, and did my seatbelt up. I avoided her gaze. I was soon to learn that there were very few things worse than being trapped in a small car with a secret and a nosey mum.

She started to drive, glancing at me every three seconds with that stupid I'm-your-mum-so-I -know-everything smile. 

"C'mon, Dan. Give me a hint. Are they in your grade?"

"Mum."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Oh, I see. They're older than you, aren't they."

"Mum."

 

"Fine, fine," she said in her sing-song voice. "Just let me know if it goes anywhere- or if you need any advice or-"

 

I stepped out of the car, cutting her off mid-sentence, and shut the door firmly behind me. I decided to walk the remaining block to Dr Sander's office- I didn't need the added stress of keeping secrets from her. 

My mother drove away after giving me a wave, and I was alone.

The walk was quiet. And my mind went foggy. Really, really, foggy.

I turned a corner, and the familiar faded blue sign was waiting for me. 

Doctor Sanders Therapy

I exhaled.

I checked my watch. I still had seven minutes before my appointment.

I sat down on the faded grass outside the building, and picked a few of the spindly buttercups that grew there.

The sky was blue. Very clear, but very dull. 

The sky looked like water. And it looked real enough for me to drown in it. 

I pulled some more of the buttercups from the ground and held them up against the sky.

Yellow on blue. 

Buttercups. 

Memories.

. . .

 

"These little guys are called buttercups, Daniel," he said. "I like to think that I've got buttercups growing inside of my chest- right from my heart."

"What do you mean, Grandpa?"

"I think that everyone in the world has a flower inside of them, just waiting to be discovered."

I stared at the little yellow flowers before me. I tried to imagine them wedged in-between his ribs. 

"How do they grow without sunlight?" I asked curiously.

He laughed. That rich, booming, laugh. 

"Magic."

He stood up off the park bench, and I took his hand. We started to walk in the direction that meant home. 

"What kind of flower do I have in my chest?" I asked.

He smiled again. "I'm not sure."

"I think that I've got daisies. Lots and lots and lots of them. You know, they're the very best flower out there. Ever."

We stopped walking. He pointed at a little clump of daisies. "Why don't we collect some, then, and bring them home for your mother?"

I nodded. 

He walked over to that little clump, and bent down on his knees to pick them with me. 

I wish that I'd known earlier. 

Known that he'd never stand again after that moment. 

Known that he'd never speak again after that moment. 

 

And then there was red and blue and the wailing of an ambulance that a nearby mother had called. 

It was very loud. 

I covered my ears with my hands, and the daisies we picked together- the very last daisies that we would ever pick together- were still clutched in my hands. 

And then he was gone, and my mother was hugging me.

My mum hugged me lots in the days that passed. So did my dad. 

But she didn't understand. And neither did he. That was the problem. Nobody understood. 

There was only one person in the whole world who understood me at that time, and he'd just had a heart attack while picking daisies.

And then there was nobody at all.

For the first week, I was fine. I was so completely fine, because no- he wasn't dead- he wasn't gone. 

He couldn't be. 

I didn't look at daisies again after that, not until the I saw the ones that were resting on his coffin at the funeral.

 

Then it became real.

Then it was true.

Then they were right.

Then he was gone.

And there was nothing but fog left. Fog fog fog fog fog.

 

And then I learned that it wasn't really foggy outside- it was just in my head. 

And I was too lethargic to do anything at all.

So I didn't.

Because I didn't just like daisies, I was a daisy. 

I was a happy little daisy, growing next to some lovely buttercups. 

And then he died, and all my roots were ripped from the ground, my stem was cut and I was shoved in a cold glass bottle. And then when I wilted, the whole wide world asked why I wasn't happy anymore.

. . .

"Dan?"

I jerked my eyes open. They were met with the familiar green eyes that meant- "Doctor Sanders," I muttered, sitting up off the wall.

I was still right outside her office. I'd never gone in. I checked the time on my phone. I'd been outside for the last twenty minutes.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her glasses sliding down her nose. 

I dried my face off roughly with my sleeve. My face was red. 

"Fine. I'm fine."

She offered me a hand up. I took it. 

And then we walked inside, and she started to ask me all the questions I didn't know the answers to. 

-

As much as I disliked therapy, that convinced me I was crazy more than it helped, I disliked Mondays more. The only reason I didn't go straight home the moment I arrived was because of the promise that I'd see Phil second period. But when I got into my science class, Phil wasn't there. It was like a 'fuck you' from the universe. It was a bad day, I was in a lousy head space, Phil was gone, and the four guys behind me had started talking. 

And they were talking about me. Trying to get a reaction. 

Their words. They were the very ugliest of words. Like 'pussy' and 'freak' and 'fag'. And then their ugly ugly ugly words started to enter my clouded mind.

 

And they got louder and louder and I forgot about the sparkles that Phil had given me on Friday night. 

And my heart started to race. I wondered if it was even working properly.

And my heart sped up some more, and they got louder and louder.

And then all of the air in the room turned into honey, and it was too thick to drag into my lungs. And so I started breathing even more heavily. And they got louder and louder.

And then my heart became a frantic wild animal, trying to claw its way out of my chest.

And I felt shakey, and I wanted to get out of my skin. Because my skin was closing in on me just like the room- just like their voices which were still getting louder and louder and louder.

And then my heart started to beat so loudly, it was like a drum. NO- louder. It was a cannon. It was thunder. It was fireworks. It became all I could hear. It was louder than their voices. And I wondered if the whole class- the whole world, if they could all hear my heart too.

And I looked down at my hands. They were shaking. Like the last leaves of fall, clinging to branches, shivering in the wind. About to fade.

And then my very bones, they turned to glass. They turned fragile, like they were too weak to hold me up.

And then I'm pretty sure I started crying, but who could tell. My heart and their voices, they were too loud to tell anything.

And then there was an arm on my shoulder.

And then it was wrapping around me and holding on tightly. When I felt it, I went very stiff. And then I realised who it was, and I wasn't anymore. I melted into it- into him.

Phil.

He gave me the softest smile, softer than moonlight. 

And then I knew that even though my heart was wild and my bones were glass and my lungs weren't working and my hands were shaking and my eyes were leaking and my brain was broken- I would be okay.

And after his arm was around me, the voices in the room- and in my head- they stopped momentarily.

"Would you look at that," one of the boys behind me- Nathan- scoffed. "The pansy has a fucking boyfriend now."

I felt the familiar feel of a blush tickle my cheeks. But it wasn't the 'good kind'- the 'Phil Kind'- of blush. No. This was the humiliating and embarrassing kind of blush that only came along when I wanted to disappear.

But Phil was not blushing. He was not embarrassed. He'd spun in his chair, and his eyes were both the coldest ice and the hottest fire I'd ever seen. If he looked at me that way, I wouldn't be surprised if all the glass bones in my body shattered.

"Yeah, and so what if he fucking does?" Phil snarled. His arm tightened protectively around me, and his face contorted into something terrifying- rage.

I knew that it was bad when people got into fights. And I knew it was also bad when Phil got into fights. But for once I wished that the purple bruises on Phil's knuckles came from beating the shit out of those guys. Those stupid, stupid, guys.

"You didn't answer my question," he said bluntly. "What if he was my fucking boyfriend? What then?"

And even though his words were accusatory and mean and aimed at them, the very concept of Phil being my boyfriend . . .

Little roses- happy roses- were blooming on my cheeks.

"It would mean that you're a faggot too, not just him anymore," Nathan sneered, a slightly smug expression balancing on his face.

Phil bristled. He curled his fingers into fists. He was radiating that same horribly angry energy he was when I met him. I looked around quickly for where the hell our teacher was, but he wasn't in the room anymore. I assumed he went for a walk or to the office. That was bad. 

Phil was on his feet in an instant. And then his hand was on the shirt collar of the boy who'd just spoken, and then they were both standing. Phil pulled the boy close, so they were nose to nose.

"Just so we're perfectly clear," he whispered, his voice so sharp it could cut, "you're no match for me."

There was a sickening thump. The boy doubled over from where Phil's fist made contact, a small 'oof' escaping his lips. Phil's hands were both curled into fists, and he stepped forwards.

And all the boy's friends became a little smaller in their chairs. They shared nervous glances.

Phil kept staring. He was daring them- urging them- to do something. But they didn't. Phil laughed. "I think it's perfectly clear to everyone in this room who the weak one is."

Phil's hand snaked around my arm, and pulled me upright. "Come with me, kay?" he prompted. His voice was a dozen shades softer now. My legs were wobbly, like they were made out of jello, but I managed to follow him as he pulled me out of the class.

 

We wound our way through the school, which he already knew remarkably well for his first week. The dim lights flickered, and his hand was still on my arm. I tried to memorise what his hand felt like. After that, my mind started to quiet down, but my heart didn't. It was still fluttery. Excited.

"Where are we going?" I asked quietly, after we'd been walking for a few minutes.

He offered me a lopsided smile. "Have I ever told you about my fascination with Invisible Places?"

I shook my head.

"Alright. I'm that case, I've got my second chapter."

My heart buzzed. A second chapter.

"To put it bluntly, my childhood was kinda shitty," he said offhandedly. "I was left struggling with the whole 'my-parents-got-divorced-so-now-I-feel-like-everything's-my-fault-but-my-dad-is-broke-so-I-don't-even-get-pity-presents' thing for most of it."

"Oh."

"To cope with this," he continued, "I left the house all the time in search of Invisible Places. And after some investigation, I've discovered that this school has one."

He lead me up a staircase in the very back of the school (which I didn't even know existed). There were cobwebs everywhere, and the whole place smelled musty. It was like the entire world had forgotten that it was still there. I had so many questions for him. Like what an Invisible Place was, or how he found them. But my brain was still a little too foggy to form proper questions. 

When we got to the top of the stairs, I tried the door. It was locked. Phil didn't say anything at all. He didn't need to. He just walked over to the door with a paperclip in his hand, and in about eleven seconds the door wasn't locked anymore. I grinned. So did he. We stepped inside, but I couldn't see anything. The whole room was pitch black. And then I heard a faint click, and a single flickering bulb lit up. We were in the auditorium- or at least- we were on the balcony above. There were old props and costumes strewn about, and a single worn-down couch right in front of the railing.

Just from the looks of it, I was positive that it hadn't been touched in at least a couple bazillion years.

"Welcome to your first Invisible Place. I like to call it 'the cupboard above the stairs."

I laughed lamely at his shitty reference. He smiled like it was the best thing he'd ever created. And then we were sitting on that couch together, overlooking the empty stage and the rows on rows of chairs.

"Just to clarify, Invisible Places have two bits of criteria. They need to be hidden, and they need to be fantastic."

I nodded thoughtfully, but my thoughts were drifting away from our conversation. My head was a little foggy, and the only thing I could focus on was how there was only a few inches in between the two of us on that couch. I stole the occasional glance in his direction. And he caught me once or twice. And we smiled. Silence was settling over us rapidly, but I didn't know what to say. All the words I knew, they were all jumbled up in my throat, and I couldn't make sense of them. And my heart was racing for the second time that day, but it was because his knee was brushing up against my leg. 

I leaned over, and rested my head on his shoulder. He didn't seem to mind.

"What's your second chapter?" Phil asked softly.

I frowned, and closed my eyes tightly. I wandered about inside my head, while I tried to find something to offer him that wasn't too personal. I pressed my lips together. There were things in my brain that wanted to be said. That I wanted to share, to get off my chest. But I also knew that I couldn't do it.

"Why are you afraid of talking to me?" Phil said after I failed to respond.

"I'm not, I'm not scared. Well, I guess that I am. I just. You're not. You're not exactly-"

"-Approachable," Phil finished for me. He drew in a very sharp breath. His face wasn't a happy one anymore.

"That's really rich, coming from you," he said.

I stayed quiet, and sat up straight again. That time, his words did cut into me.

"You, out of everyone in the world, should know that making snap decisions about people is a shitty thing to do."

My brain was starting to shut down. My throat sealed up, and my eyes started to water.

"Yeah, I'm pretty tall, and I've got black hair and even a few piercings. And sure! I snap at people sometimes, and I've gotten into fights before. But do you really think so poorly of me, that you don't consider me a friend?"

His words were ringing in my head. I felt ashamed. Because I knew that all the things he was saying were true.

"If I was a coward, would you talk to me then?" he asked softly. The anger in his voice started to ebb away, but it left behind traces of the genuine hurt I'd caused. "Do you honestly believe that you need to be afraid of me?"

I didn't speak. My head had jammed entirely. There was too much going on inside, and then suddenly, nothing going on at all. But I knew that I had to speak. I had to say something. Because I was a coward, and I didn't like talking. But Phil thinking that we weren't friends? That was a million times worse.

"T-The reason. I'll say it. You asked m-me awhile ago why- why they bullied me. And I didn't tell you the whole truth. It's because I'm. It's because I'm-"

He became silent. I could feel his eyes burning into me. My throat wasn't working right- but I had to say it. I had to. I had to. 

"It's because I'm gay, Phil."

The words spilled out from my lips. I watched them fall, and clatter to the ground. I wanted more than anything to pick up those five stupid words off the floor, and eat them up again. I wished that Phil never heard them. They were echoing in my head.

I'm gay, Phil.

There was deadly silence that stretched on for a million years, and then-

"Are you fucking serious, Dan?"

And then my heart fell out of my chest. And then it plunged into a deep pit of despair. And then it was stepped on and chopped up into tiny little pieces. And then it didn't exist anymore, and I couldn't feel anything.

And then he took me off guard, and he laughed. "You bloody space cadet," he whispered. "You really thought- Look. I could care less about your freaking sexuality, love."

I looked up at him. And all my glass bones didn't fall apart like I thought they were going to.

"Dan Howell, just so that there's no confusion between us: it's okay with me. It doesn't matter in the slightest, and I'm still your friend."

I let out the heaviest breath in my entire life.

"But it does sting, that you didn't trust me enough to tell me. And that you thought I was one of those idiots- one of those people who would mind."

He broke off. And he put a hand on my shoulder. It was so warm, and soft, and gentle. It was like he knew how close I was to collapsing in on myself during that conversation. His thumb ran lightly against my collar bone, I could feel it through my t-shirt. My face was burning. And my heart was magically back in my chest, completely repaired.

Then his voice came, and it was even softer than his hand. "You don't need to worry about me. I promise, whatever your second chapter is, I'll still be your friend afterwards."

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to tell him. My mind scrambled for something- for anything- to say. And when I didn't find anything, I opted to tell him the truth, and nothing more. 

"My skin- you know, metaphorically speaking- is really fragile. And to keep it safe, I never open. And I never trust. And- and I suffer because of it."

He gave my shoulder a little squeeze, and took his hand back.

"Thank you."

I leaned my head back onto his shoulder, and I didn't regret telling him anymore. Because the gap between us was smaller. Not just the physical gap on the couch, either. We were better friends, which was all I could hope for. 

I really didn't understand him, as much as I tried to analyse all his actions and words. Sometimes he was soft, like when I hugged him, and he held me. And other times he was anything but soft, and he'd yell and snap and get all scary. And sometimes he was just so fucking smug and confident, even the teachers let him get away with stupid shit. And somehow all these different pieces and edges of Phil Lester, they were my friend. Not always- not all the time. Sometimes the broody-and-angry Phil got mad at me, and sometimes the rash-and-impulsive Phil said things that were too harsh for my delicate mind. But overall, he was my friend. He tolerated me, and sometimes even said things so beautiful that I thought I'd cry.

It was rarely just a quiet day with Phil. As I got to know him, it became more and more apparent that if I wanted to stay near him, I'd probably get hurt a little on the way. Like trying to stand near a fire. Being far away means you don't get anything out of it. Safe, but also bored, lonely, stuck. And being close, it means that everything will happen. You'll be warm, excited, alive interested, but you also might burn.

And hell, when it came to Phil Lester, I was burning. I was at the core of the fire, and my body- my mind- my soul-

My heart- 

They were all aflame with him.


	6. Just so you guys know

Hey guys. This isn't a normal chapter. 

Some people have been asking why I stopped updating, and it's because I've been rewriting this story recently. I've decided to leave the original chapters up here, and you can find the new version up on wattpad, where updates will be continuing. 

https://www.wattpad.com/390734644-amity-d-h-%2B-p-l-one-rewrite

**Author's Note:**

> I'm usually on wattpad, and this story can also be found there, but I heard that this app had some amazing people & stories on it, so I'm giving it a try!
> 
> let me know if you liked this, next chapter should be up soon!
> 
> -jenny


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